by Jayne Thickett
They laughed when she said she could make the flowers open and the grass grow. If it wasn't for her, the moon would not shine, but they waved her away.
Daddy said they were fools. “You are my sunshine. You give life to the world.”
Or was it light? Not that it mattered; they still pulled her hair and put tacks on her chair.
Now they are calling her back.
And she will go, lighting up their lives one final time.
In the school hall, there will be napalm on the dance floor. They will see her shine at last.
Author bio: Jayne Thickett writes whenever and wherever she can, despite the ulterior motives of life.