Pinky

Jose Angel Araguz
· in ,

Like a girl, says my uncle about the way I hold my coffee, my small finger hooked in a J. Cool as I can, I tell him what I heard: A king once demanded silence throughout his palace, had everyone grow out their pinky nails. Knocking was banned. Doors were scratched by hands curled almost to fists. A kingdom of whispers. People scared white as the powder edging their faces. Smiling, my uncle shoves his shovel-sharp nail into the air and makes a sound behind his teeth that could be a laugh or a pebble struck against a pane of glass.

Jose Angel Araguz is a Canto Mundo fellow. He has had work recently in Barrow Street, Slipstream, Hanging Loose, and Poet Lore. He is presently pursuing a PhD in Creative Writing at the University of Cincinnati. He runs the writing blog The Friday Influence.