Will you remember the brown curve of
my shoulders where the Wind exposed it last?
or the distant spectre of blue and silver
Mountains, the night you arrived?
Did you witness the symphonic dance of
Snowflakes – small, fat
tumbling up and down
like the curious girls and boys
bundled in pagan pink and green
rushing down Park City
shouting : “Excuse me” and “Wee!”
Did your eyes draw in the majestic tops
of Christmas trees dusted with white coats
on branches, the proud, naked aspens, or
the forgetful wooded mouse who thought,
“Has Spring already arrived?”
Did you feel my arms push and hold you straight
when you were ready to surrender off of that lift,
or in between impossibly tight trees ? –
the sight of a sacred summit surrounding you.
Did you taste the dry mountain air
on your lips, filling your toasty insides,
greeting you in the morning or the passing rays of Sun,
just at the right moment
caressing a deserved cheek?
I watched you from the window,
mix ancient Aphrodisiacs with cream,
peel and harvest the slices of golden deliciousness
and when no one looked,
lick those sweet fingers of roasted chicken meat.
I watched you light each rainbow birthday candle
And I watched you
Blow each one out –
whispering silent wishes that would make them come true
and I watched you break into each yoke
to weave the fabric of a silken omelet.
I put your heavy lids to bed after
a long day of sore legs and I helped you open each
waiting to pour in a new day.
Will you remember me
after you’ve prepared to leave?
Como se dice adios? How to say goodbye?
Will you take a piece of me, revisit me
in the dimensions of “déjà-vu” or through the portals of taste
like a good asparagus soup,
or how the champagne bubbles slid
comme sable, like sand,
down the slopes of your tongue.
Perhaps I will surprise you, and in the end
allow you to carry me away with you
as salt – on the soles of your shoes
that was once Snow.
By Mai Brehaut
Deer Valley, Utah