the skier

do you ski, she asks
with a toothy smile
her hair pulled back
against the awful
blue sky.
she is an olympian.
her face flush with
sunlight, her bones
strong, holding her
in solid stance with
a pole dug in,
skis sunk into the ice
and snow. no, you
tell, much too my
sorrow, i'm more
of a sledder, then
watch her in a blow
of white wind, go
down the hill
without you.