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Praise Song for the Marvelous City*

_ 1                  For the magical tires of taxis, conjuring invisible lanes of traffic, swerving this way & that, swift and
             sweet as banana smoke—a call-and-response with astonished tourists, hearts in throats

2                  For the holy molecules of the Atlantic, rippling waves of foam into white sands; rising into
             rainforested hills; into ethereal tolls of cathedral bells; into fountains of clouds; up up up into orgasms of
                 summer rain.                                                                                     
                
3                  For the refrain of a carioca’s curves, orbiting Sambódromo like a galaxy of bronze suns; for the hint
             of her smile, faint as the sweetness of coconut water; hair, lush as the pulp of caipirinha limes

4                  For time, bending on bandstands asway with bossa nova; fruit stands of blood oranges, cashew fruit,
             and acerolas; newsstands, a cacophony of headlines in Portuguese, Spanish, and other colonial
             languages

5                  For posses of capuchin monkeys, marauding refrigerators for mangos; for bullets raining across
             favelas like the kisses of violent lovers; for hillsides of black faces, whites of their eyes shining
             sharp as teeth

6                  For each dirt seam in the green, rainforested robe of Corcovado; for the paths to redemption, rising
             through the clouds; for the arms of the Christ, wide enough to welcome all mankind’s
             unwashed

7                  For the hips of Oxum, emerging from the Mazomba River; summoning samba on pandeiros and
             cuicas; coloring the slums with her tongue of tangerine and honey

8                  For gangs of hang gliders, painting clouds over Pedra Bonita; for each Rocinha rooftop junkie
             hallucinating Christ the Redeemer; for the roar of Maracana, raising the sky for an immaculate, mid-field goal
                 by Ronaldo. 
                 
9                  For sandbars; juice bars; sidewalk sports bars—a sea of yellow and green #9 jerseys overflowing
             every cobblestone street in Lapa

10                For the last reais of an unsuspecting tourist, pickpocketed by the long, blue arm of the sea; for the
             mistress of the blue hour—in the avenue, nude—searching for her black negligee; for
             the dream nets of fishermen, dragging the moon through Guanabara Bay like an orange

11                For the 42 arches of Arcos da Lapa; for Portuguese graffiti dancing a capoeira of color; for street
             parties of bohemians & thieves, drunk on a cocktail of cachaça, bamboo flutes, and samba de
             roda

12                For excesses of flesh—Carnival costumes barely holding breasts; churrascaria waiters carving
             avalanches of beef; Tijuca, a wonderland of fruit, enough to feed all future generations in
             heaven

13                For the futvoley players; the surfers; the cyclists & the sunbathers; joggers’ holy tendons, hoisting the
             sun like bananeiras in the liquid gold of dawn

14                For the blessed hands of the laborers—the bellhops, the barbers; the florists, the butchers; the sex
             workers; the police with their unseen arms; all serving, all earning, all hustling with their
             shoulders pressed to the holy wheel of everything

15                  All is holy, all is aglow, all is marvelous: Cidade Maravilhosa—Rio de Janeiro

* Cidade Maravilhosa: The Marvelous City, nickname for Rio de Janeiro


--M. AYODELE HEATH
ISSN 2157-8079
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