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Amarita

Amarita

 

Our poetry editor adds another ballad to our series, this time about a Roman fortuneteller he shared a tent with during his brief stay in the former Holy Empire.

"By the time I arrived in Florence, I had slept exactly ten hours in about two days. Before knocking out, I recalled the most interesting person I had met on my Italian odyssey; she woke me up one morning, and we had café amaretto as she told me her life story."


Smoking grass below the canopy
of billowing sheets—
you call them “sails

of a great ship to the stars."
You read me the Gita,
pondered Sanjaya and what piazzas

are fit for tarot:
“How long can a deck survive
without its Fool?”

Drinking café amaretto,
rolling Pueblos as the sun sets,
drunk on you, divinest nectar,

Amarita, vittoriossa.

 

00:29|13.06.2016
Firenze, Italia


E.R. Pulgar was born in Venezuela and raised in Miami amidst palm trees, gritty night life, and dreams of New York City. His work has appeared in Dagda Publishing, Brio and the Gallatin Review. His writing encompasses sex, mysticism, and its context in modern love. He attends New York University, where he is majoring in music journalism, poetry, and film. He lives in Brooklyn. 

@er_pulgar | erpulgarwrites@gmail.com

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