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.
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