Her and I

I am already 43
She is only 97

I am waving my scissors in front of Moirai
Asking for a cut
She buries hers under a gooseberry bush

My eyes, always closed
Hers, half-blind, see what I am missing on

I can hear but I am deaf
Her ears are no more but she listens

My short-fingered hands, gloved in self-loath
Hers, contorted, tortured and happy

Oh God!
How I wish I were only 97