This is my favorite poem of these poems
because of the last line.
"People who do not remember death
are destined to be surprised.
Me, I have become so familiar with her sweet perfume.
I think of my great grandmother's rot, of my cousin
sliced in the wars.
There is no day when I have been awake,
I have not noticed death, slow pulling the hem of my dress.
The one in the next bed is dying.
Mother, we are all next, or next."