470
I am alive-I guess-
The Branches on my Hand
Are full of Morning Glory-
And at my finger’s end-
The Carmine-tingles warm-
And if I hold a Glass
Across my Mouth-it blurs it-
Physician’s-proof of Breath-
I am alive-because
I am not in a Room-
The Parlor-Commonly-it is-
So Visitors may come-
And lean-and view it sidewise-
And add “How cold-it grew”-
And “Was it conscious-when it stepped
In Immortality?”
I am alive-because
I do not own a House-
Entitled to myself-precise-
And fitting no one else-
And marked my Girlhood’s name-
So Visitors may know
Which Door is mine-and not
