most days, i have my hand raised.
not all the way, not even above my head (above which one should always raise their hand when asking for attention.)
my hand will be raised just to the side of my head, sometimes hovering above my shoulder, sometimes in front of my eyes.
just enough to wave at someone, or to shield my face, or to signal cupping an ear, but always for some sense, some awareness, whether curbing it up or down, more or less, better or worse.
most days, i have my hand raised, and my arm aches, but while some people find reasons to put their hands down, or they rest their hand on something while i keep it raised, i never seem to find anything that will help, and i never manage to keep my hand down for long.
most days, i have my arm raised.
if my arm was my life, i am the only one who can and must draw attention to it, and must posture to use my arm, maneuver to keep my arm raised and function as best i can while i do.
if my arm was my life, and i was drowning, i have to keep it up so that i know it's there, so that i can grab on to whatever floats by, but i can't reach it out to anything, nothing ever seems to be within reach of where my hand can go, as if my arms aren't long enough to reach the world and what is solid in it.
if my arm was my life, i can feel my fingers brushing against something, but the blood is gone from them and i can't feel what it might be, and i strain my muscles hoping that i can grasp firmly onto whatever it is while my hand is asleep.
my arm is my life, and if i don't raise it, if i don't use it, no one will.
my arm is not raised above my head.
yet, most days, i have my hand raised.
