Zara Vignola Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

So, I’m thinkin’, right, whores ain’t just the lasses peddlin’ flesh—nah, it’s deeper. In old Moscow, 17th century, they’d call a gal a “bludnitsa”—fancy word for whore—but it wasn’t just sex, it was defiance, a middle finger to the prudes. Made me chuckle, that—balls o’ steel, those birds. I’d tip my cup to ‘em, spill some wine on me boots, curse meself for it. “Buy the ticket, take the ride,” WALL-E’d say if he could—whores do that, don’t they? They’re in it, no half-arsin’ about.

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After the rain stops, I head back outside. The streets are glistening, and Vignola looks even more beautiful. I stroll down to the Parco della Resistenza. It’s this lovely park with trees and flowers. I take a deep breath, and it smells amazing. I’m reminded of home, of the forest.

Yale PA Online Student Anna Vignola Receives First Place in Yale-UCL Poetry Competition