Capoeira by Clara Rabbani

The West,
To me,
Is Capoeira.

Boundless
And filled with
Saudade.

It is
The macaws
Of the Amazon.
And the macaques
Of the tamarind trees.

In the West,
I string words together like
beads.

Chew them in my mouth
Like the husks
Of amendoim.

It stays
On my lips
Like the taste
Of coffee beans.

In the West
I walk on wet clay
That stains
Like açaí.

Like açaí,
The West is bitter-sweet.
Inconvenient
Like the shells
Of things I break apart
With my hands.
Look inside.
And repeat.

The West, to me,
Stings like the bite
Of something I never see.
Yet, I’ve grown to love the
Sweat and tears
Of distant familiarity.