Современная американская поэзия. Антология

Dying 

must take more attention than I ever imagined.

Just when she’d compose herself

and seem fixed on the work before her,

Mother would fret, trying to help her

just one more time: Look for the light,

until I took her arm

and told her wherever I was in the world

I would come back, no matter how difficult 

it was to reach her, if I heard her calling.

Shut up, mother, I said, and Annie died.