The Girl Who Loved the Sky 

Anita Endrezze 

        Outside the second-grade room,
        the jacaranda tree blossomed
        into purple lanterns, the papery petals
        drifted, darkening the windows.
5      Inside, the room smelled like glue.
        The desks were made of yellowed wood,
        the tops littered with eraser rubbings,
        rulers, and big fat pencils.
        Colored chalk meant special days.
10    The walls were covered with precise
        bright tulips and charts with shiny stars
        by certain names. There, I learned
        how to make butter by shaking a jar
        until the pale cream clotted
15    into one sweet mass. There, I learned
        that numbers were fractious beasts
        with dens like dim zeros. And there,
        I met a blind girl who thought the sky
        tasted like cold metal when it rained
20    and whose eyes were always covered
        with the bruised petals of her lids.
        She loved the formless sky, defined
        only by sounds, or the cool umbrellas
        of clouds. On hot, still days
25    we listened to the sky falling
        like chalk dust. We heard the noon
        whistle of the pig-mash factory,
        smelled the sourness of homebound men.
        I had no father; she had no eyes;
30    we were best friends. The other girls
        drew shaky hopscotch squares
        on the dusty asphalt, talked about
        pajama parties, weekend cookouts,
        and parents who bought sleek-finned cars.
35    Alone, we sat in the canvas swings,
        our shoes digging into the sand, then pushing,
        until we flew high over their heads,
        our hands streaked with red rust
        from the chains that kept us safe.
40    I was born blind, she said, an act of nature.
        Sure, I thought, like birds born
        without wings, trees without roots.
        I didn’t understand. The day she moved
        I saw the world clearly; the sky
45    backed away from me like a departing father.
        I sat under the jacaranda, catching
        the petals in my palm, enclosing them
        until my fist was another lantern
        hiding a small and bitter flame.


Making Meanings 

First Thoughts 

1. If you had a chance, what would you say to the little girl who speaks in this poem?

Shaping Interpretations 

2. What has each girl in this poem lost? 

3. Do you think the girl who was blind taught her friend anything? Is the poem clear on this point? Explain your response. 

4. What images does Endrezze create for you in her poem? What can you see? hear? almost taste

5. How could chains keep the girls safe—safe from what? 

Connecting with the Text 

6. What do you think the little girl means in lines 43–44 when she says that the day her friend moved she “saw the world clearly”? Do you agree with her vision of what the world is like? Why, or why not?

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