A girl always cold in Kentucky
rides the lift in the Canadian sunshine.
Goggles cannot hide her smile.
Poised at the peak of the mountain,
she casts off in custom-molded boots.
On her fourth day of skiing, she
masters a powerful snow plough.
Her boyfriend slaloms backwards
to video her progress as she knits
through loops on Whistler’s back.
She holds arms forward, knees bent,
without poles, intent. The girl
and her shadow take tight turns
leading the line through the trees.
She never bails, a statue,
eyes fixed downhill, weaving
fifty diagonal swoops down the trail,
the crunch of skis carving the crust.
Behind her a tot takes a tumble
but the girl zigs and zags
until she flops, laughing, into a heap.