Or Anything

She raises her eyebrows

and bows to the screen,

safely letting in the air

after the glass pane is lifted.

She raises her eyelids

and glimpses sideways, that

she may catch the animation

from that VCR to screen.

She lifts her hands

and touches her infant son-

becoming in her womb.

And holds his hands in hers.

She raises her upper lip

and lets her tongue taste

the sweet saline drips

in cool collected fear from her glands.

She raises her chin

to face the digital clock

and hammer her raising alarm

and opens her shades.

She raises her foot and leg

and stands to walk her

room. Stands to move

herself, move her blood.

She raises her fingers

and swipers away the

dreams from her eye corners

and pulls her cheeks.

She raises her lungs

and lowers them focusing

on her understanding of

life: breathing, breathing, breathing.

She lifts her hands

and touches where there is

no flower. No bloom, no stamen or stem,

or petal, or pollen

Or anything. She raises her

toes and sets them back on

the blades, so lush and

full she raises the corners of her mouth.