That Girl

Gary Soto

The public library was saying things
In so many books,
And me, Catholic boy
In a green sweater,
Was reading the same page
A hundred times.
A girl was in my way,
Protestant or Jew,
And she was at the other end
Of the oak table,
Her hands like doves
On the encyclopedia, E-G.
England, I thought,
Germany before the war?
She'll copy from that book,
Cursive like waves
Riding to the shore,
And tomorrow walk across lawns
In a public school dress
With no guilt pulling at an ear.
And me? I'll kick

My Catholic shoes through
Leaves, stand in the
Clockroom and eat
A friend's lunch. My work
Was never finished.
My maps were half-colored,
History a stab in the dark,
And fractions the inside
Of a pocket watch
Spilled on my desk.
I was no good. I blame
That girl. When she erased
And her hair bounced like a skirt,
I looked up, then returned
To my book: the Nile
Is the longest river in the world.
She clicked open her
Binder. I looked up,
Gazed, then went back down:
The Nile is the longest river. . .