Dressed in cut white poster-board I stood on stage at the Weaver Street Kindergarten and to people I didn't know I recited, "I am a peanut butter and jelly
sandwich." A stranger touched-up my colors with magic markers; dressed me with stick pins, tape and staples. Before I said my line, my hands explored the brown and purple edges
and found a sharp part. It was necessary to locate the slicing thing. I found it twice more; cutting three fingers and the top of my palm. My interior leaked on
crust. I said nothing, but stared at my hands, then smeared them on my white bread body. When the celery stalk shoved me, I raised my arms, palms outward, and said, "I am
