The Pink Letters of Grade School

THE PINK LETTERS OF GRADE SCHOOL / Juan Delgado Each day a stickman's fingers counted time for us. WhUe our teachers examined us their fingers parted our hair; our stiffening jaws held us in Une. We imagined we heard the "crack" breaking open the louse's clear egg. We learned to tilt our heads down. WhUe the pink letters were handed out the white envelopes blushed. Not even my drawings of choppers kept me from looking beyond—a wired glass window framing our door, its view cut and bound by edges. A finger for every school hour. A hand closing into a fist held time. A screen door would swing close; its pumping arm brought the day in. A haUwa/s Ught would extend into sleep where a pinned letter rubbed my chin. For shaming father my hair was shaved. Then our fierce games of cooties started. 196 · The Missouri Review ...