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Writer's picturecherylmurfin

2. The Running of the Bulls (Or, Depression Meets Hemingway)


The Running of the Bulls


I read that Pamplona is

Where Hemingway despaired

Into his icy vermouth deep into the night

But found, to his constant astonishment,

That each and every morning

The sun also rises


The sun rises on these narrow streets

Making a golden halo over the star-shaped Citadel

Glowing under plastic-covered bistro tables

Pouring into windows around the Plaza del Castillo

Where the Old Man (not yet to the sea)

Drank like a fish and kissed the pretty ones as they walked by


If you walked by, he’d kiss you too,

Discernment ebbing on the flow of wine

But you are not here to be kissed

You are in the freshly painted Plaza de Toros

Caged behind an old wood gate

Stomping your hoofs, spitting at the floor

Raging to be let loose on the road


I shoulder my pack and follow the signs

To the road out of Pamplona toward the setting of that same sun

I hear you snorting too close to ignore, pierced by the picadores' lances

I am dizzy with hope that the gate will hold fast

But fear I’ll be trampled nonetheless


~ Cheryl Murfin, along the Camino de Santiago

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sjkmley
Dec 27, 2018

Absolutely beautiful Cheryl I wept at some of the lines 💕

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