Losses
By Claire Scott

pieces of my life left along the way
clumps and clusters of
what-used-to-bes
what-no-longer-ares
like pay phones and phone books
incandescent light bulbs
landlines & VCRs

my children remind me
I once ran six minute miles
flashing in silver shorts and
Saucony shoes at five am
now I shuffle a few sclerotic
steps around the block
but never before ten
and only on Mondays

once I had sun-streaked hair
tumbling off my shoulders
now thin and sparrow grey
a comb-over to hide vacant spaces
my children remind me I once was slender
scarcely a hundred pounds
so much thicker now, especially the middle
now only elastic waistbands
size twos gathered up and
given to Goodwill

once I slept only five hours
rising rested at dawn
now at least a nightly nine to make up
for peeing, tossing, sore hips,
CPAP machine and sinuses that don’t drain
so many losses my children remind me
as they silently check my memory,
my refrigerator, my fingernails

but does it count as a loss
to no longer be skinny, fast, full-haired
and refreshed after five hours
does it count if your granddaughter
has managed to spill flour all
over the kitchen floor
and your grandson is brrrooming
fire trucks into newly painted walls

does it really count
if you can get by just fine
totally and completely just fine
on the fullness of what is left