Ruth Schreiber

Small hopes

I’ve swapped my kitten heels for a walking stick
my false lashes for a false knee
my pencil skirt for jogger pants
my air pods for hearing aids

My smartphone remembers
my grandkids’ birthdays
and lends me a semblance
of cool

Dinners with friends have flashed
into organ recitals,
inventories of those withered and withdrawn
or gone, now,
those on Viagra or Botox,
a new hip, a new spouse,
an old love
or none

My bucket list is fading--
eliding into memories, fantasies, vicarious joys,
palimpsest reflections on what was

and segueing to small hopes
for another day
intact