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
– Emily Dickinson