My daughter at twelve

Photo by Yulia Zavalishina

She searches the crowd at the school carnival, 
seeking ramps that reach the merry-go-round’s edge.  

With a move of her fingers, she signs thank you to the attendant. 
Now all the prizes from her skillful dart throws  

jingle in her lap, tucked beside her knapsack. 
Later, she draws SpongeBob with her stylus,  

her tablet a map of her dreams. She asks why 
people stare—why her wheelchair draws whispers.  

Please stop. She begs me not to call the principal: 
she heard the talk was just teasing, nothing more.  

She turns wishes into beautiful creations, 
making writing and art into small wonders.  

Oh my ingenious, gentle girl. I brush the tears off your cheek yet
it still carries the warmth of your sunrise smile.

Diem Okoye

Diem Okoye is a writer and teacher. She lives with two German shepherds and two neurotic cats. She moonlights as a copyeditor and loves spending time with her family and friends.

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