University of Northern Iowa
Z to A: Secret Confessions of an Alphabet JunkieAuthor(s): Kelli Russell AgodonSource: The North American Review, Vol. 290, No. 2, The National Poetry Month Issue (Mar. -Apr., 2005), p. 5Published by: University of Northern IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25127328 .
Accessed: 12/06/2014 16:43
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp
.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].
.
University of Northern Iowa is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The NorthAmerican Review.
http://www.jstor.org
This content downloaded from 185.44.78.143 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 16:43:20 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
NAR
KELLI RUSSELL AGODON
Z to A: Secret Confessions of an Alphabet Junkie
Z would be the easiest place to begin as
Yesterday I told my therapist about my X-rated habit of undressing the letter S
With my eyes. I started young, the
Valedictorian of my preschool. Understand it wasn't intentional. I wanted
To be like the other kids, watching
Saturday morning cartoons, but I loved to
Read cereal boxes, newspapers, though I wasn't
Quite reading, just touching the letters and
Perhaps, I'd whisper their sounds. It's the same
Old story, quiet girl in her bedroom and
No one's around but her dictionary. I'm
Marking every word I've looked up. I'd have been
Lucky if someone had bought me a video game,
Kept me out of the library those late nights when it was
Just me and Mrs. Pearl, a stack of books between us.
I was addicted. I'd sniff the open card catalogs, Hum the alphabet song while I snuck my full
Gray book bag in to the house. The rest is my
Frightening reality: crossword puzzles, Scrabble?
Everyday, not just weekends. I wasn't sleeping with the
Dictionary, but I knew others would. It was my own
Cult, full of letters I wanted to sacrifice (like P and Q)
Believing I could invent my own language. And I still might, maybe, if I find the right words.
THIRD PLACE JAMES HEARST POETRY PRIZE
March-April 2005 NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW 5
This content downloaded from 185.44.78.143 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 16:43:20 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions