by Diana Anaya

Witch hands, as I like
to call them, littered with
torn skin around bony claws,
white spots on nail plates,
cuticles peeling,
right pinky bent left.
You held them in your palm,
traced down my fingers’
slender lengths, and said,
These are piano hands.

Diana Anaya is a Cuban American creative nonfictionist and poet whose beloved dog is Wally and this is important information. Born and raised in Miami, she lives and writes in the multilingual modality of South Florida. She has published with Cream City Review, Broadsided Press, South Florida Poetry Journal, Acentos Review, Toyon Literary Magazine, X-R-A-Y, and The Hong Kong Review.