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