Two Poems by Yessica Klein

Yessica Klein's poems, 'I'd Like You To Meet The Brazilian Sun' and '1989' explore different aspects of Brazilianness with humour, nostalgia, pain, and frustration at once — where the 'Sun always has a joint' but fair governance can feel unreachable.

Supported by a grant from the Open Society Foundations.

I’d Like You To Meet The Brazilian Sun

The Brazilian Sun enters the sky 
with a Bluetooth speaker blasting Anitta. 
He lifts his 90s mirrored sunglasses to his
forehead & waves his left rays in a shaka sign. 

‘Suave,’ he says. Smooth.

The Brazilian Sun wears a moth-nibbled 
Sepultura T-shirt with deodorant stains, 
the malandro smile solid even on 
those Julys below 20ºC that give  
fondue dates & hand-knitted scarves.

Stand under a sunny corner, he’ll come up straight, 
offering you a hit of his joint. 
The Brazilian Sun always has a joint.

(He doesn’t mind this cliché.)    

His laughter, a contagious smoker’s  
cackle, buzzing. 

Watch now how high he goes, a straight angle 
above your flat cap, 
toasting the top of your shoulders
with pink freckles, your shadow 
a solitary circle beneath 
your flip-flops.

He only takes off in the December afternoons  
for the scheduled summer storms, 
his comeback saturating the wet hues 
back to their tropicalism.  

Let his love bathe you in unconditional light.

Let his loud good morning wake you up with a shudder.

Like most poem suns, 
he does the talking. Unlike the others, 
he never reads your work. 

1989

The police officer decided my Mum’s passport
was prettier as purple-pink ribbons. Deportation,  
he said, keeping her pregnant self from voting  
in Brazil’s first democratic elections since 1964. 
Collor wins. Within a year, he confiscates
the population’s savings accounts, part of his planned liquidity block, 
but my Mum is not to blame. How about  
some information, please? Let’s list all the reasons 
‘Like a Prayer’ was her favourite song  
in the year of my birth.

Cover image: Sun and Life by Frida Kahlo