The carpet in the kindergarten room



was alphabet blocks; all of us fidgeting



on bright, primary letters. On the shelf



sat that week's inflatable sound. The th



was shaped like a tooth. We sang



about brushing up and down, practiced



exhaling while touching our tongues



to our teeth. Next week, a puffy U



like an upside-down umbrella; the rest



of the alphabet deflated. Some days,



we saw parents through the windows



to the hallway sky. Look, a fat lady,



a boy beside me giggled. Until then



I'd only known my mother as beautiful.





