Innocenza Istarte

In a Brazilian Nightclub (Guanabarra, 1st June 2007)

Sleek girls danced
In the heat of the samba,
Their limbs twisting
Like wisps of smoke
To the whistles
That mimic the African sounds of the Amazon
But I could not see them.

Overpriced beer not fit for the favelas
Swilled as golden brown as their arms.
Caiparinhas with hardly a suggestion of cachaca
Cloudy like their almond faces.
Kisses that smelt of strawberries
Were exchanged.
But I could not taste them.

For I tread a path that is not there
And speak words that you wish not to hear
And raise from the dead
Ghosts long-forgotten
Even by the dead gods that begat them