Alexandra Teague

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.