Small hopes

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inventories of those withered and withdrawn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