I am alive I guess

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

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I am alive I guess