The carpet in the kindergarten room
was alphabet blocks; all of us fidgeting
on bright, primary letters. On the shelf
sat this 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.
--Alexandra Teague,
from her recent --and recently award-winning-- volume
Mortal Geography.
I love this book of poems.
"Language Lessons" catches more than a moment of childhood, I think.
