The Skier
A poem
Article voiceover
She reveled in the bumps on the runs, the burn of snow against her wrists. Each time I saw her fall, cheeks glowing in the wind, she lifted the whitewashed cap from her eyes, grinning at the spectacle of scattered skis and poles as I crisscrossed the hill, gathering the gear. Once I reached her, she would steady herself on my shoulder to fit her boot to the binding, stamping her heel into the lock. Soon, she’d drop into a corridor flanked by jagged rocks, bobbing among the moguls, her hair flickering against the black ice. The bruised cheeks were nothing new, she said when she called, but this time her man had dealt the blow. Then she laughed, as if wiping snow from her face — the first time I could not recover what she had lost, weave my way to her side, and return it all.
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This poem moved me so deeply I had to subscribe just to tell you, and I want to read more of your heart and deep soul words. It's not even the heartrending loss you describe, which shakes me, but that someone would love another so much to recognize that, to see that loss. I don't know why, but I want to cry, not just in grief, but in gratitude. Sometimes when you've been abused, you forget that others can see and they care. This poem is such a gift to that. With all my heart, thank you.
Wow - I didn’t see that last stanza coming the first time. Well done!