I know you now as 90 (draft)
I know you first as the woman who looked just like Grandma,
second as the lucky-nosed coin. I used to collect fifty pences
trace their hexagonal brink – never quite brave enough
to hold my breath and make a wish, though.
I’m turning 25 this year. I know you now as 90.
I know you, at 25, knew the overcast weight
of a world still healing at the knuckles.
They are always the last to heal. Accidental knocks,
holding just a little too tight, digging just a little too deep.