Jose Angel Araguz


She could people cities and fields with the voices she has heard asking to come inside, a whole world of want and anguish made up in the sound of her name, a world she did not want any more than she wanted the music, the lights, or the stars.



On a good day, I donâ notice my face, she says, with a look in her eyes full of that glassy sheen of magazines too busy with the stars.



What is that on your legs — denim paint? She laughs, her fatherâ words something she might have thought looking in the mirror.



She told him once that what she sees in a mirror is often not a reflection but more a fear that she may only be colors lingering.



She says it as an insult about a woman walking by and he wonders what is struck between her teeth and the woman, sunlit hair flashing across her eyes.



This would be better, she says, if you were a woman, and then flicks her cigarette, sending ash to scatter and sink into his reflection.



God is in the rain, she says, then turns to cross the street, this woman I do not know making her way against this sudden, traffic of light.

Jose Angel Araguz hails from Corpus Christi, TX. His work has appeared in Hanging Loose and Crab Creek Review as well as been featured in Ted Kooserâ American Life in Poetry. His chapbook, The Wall, is forthcoming from Tiger, Eye Press.

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