Blue Mountain Arts Poetry Contest

Relative-ity
by Sarah Hina

Fortieth
Contest
first Place

My daughter cannot play the piano
the way that your daughter plays one.

At seven years old, her taste in clothes
aren't about to win her any fashion raves.

Her performance on the soccer field?
I’ll let you know, soon as she kicks the thing.

And if training wheels are any tell,
don’t bet on my daughter to be first on Mars.

Truth be told, I am not convinced 
she could explain to you what gravity is.

The figures she paints often hang about in space,
the heart on Dad’s chest as big as his face.

And yet—I hope you will not draw from this
that she's a star's breath less than luminous.

For when she smiles,
the world grows lighter.
And when my daughter's laughing,
I know why we're here.

About the Author

Sarah Hina writes poetry and fiction from her home in Athens, Ohio, where she lives with her husband and two children. As an amateur photographer, she loves nothing more than taking photographs of the southeastern Ohio hills and wildlife that are a daily inspiration to her life and work. You can find her on Twitter at @sarahhina.