Books like Blue Iris: Poems and Essays

This is my favourite poem in the collection, not because it's the most exceptional poem, but because it's the poem that wound itself most firmly round my heart, and reminded me of the final days I spent with my grandmother, when she knew and I knew that she was dying, but she chose not to speak of it, but did as she had always done—silently admired the roses:RosesThe look on her face in a dreamStayed with me all dayLike a promise I had failed.Not that I had made any—Not that I could remember—But she was looking into the north Where nothing lives but white cloudsOf crying birds, like bits of snow.And the grass on which she was standing,And the roses thick on the fencesWere soft and bright, able to renew themselvesAs a woman, finally, cannot do.