The waves are endless, sweeping in to the dunes from far away. They are moody and sleepy or screaming with anger, anarchistic fury fighting destiny. The sounds of the beach are constant., the boys whistle and yell “ay mami ” but it doesn’t bother me.
When I am in Brazil
my name is Maria.
My hair is black as
the Grammostola spider,
it shines like the crystals of Ipanema.
At night we disappear into the barrios,
lose ourselves to the funk of bossa nova
sway to the sound of carioca.
You whisper in my ear
” Minha linda Maria“