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<title>The Poetry Door</title>
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<p class="MsoNormal">The Poetry Door </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> �for P.D. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">First, come into</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">the apartment: you�ll see it</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">down the long hall� </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">a vertical rectangle</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">full of rectangles</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">of extravagant colors</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">and varying sizes�with words</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">painted on these horizons. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">No need to open it</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">and end up in the dark</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">of the
closet� </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">just read your way through. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Blues, vine green, late-grape red,</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">burnt orange, Joss-paper gold . . . </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Colorful words painted in colors�lines </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">extracted from poems </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">by self and
others
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">blend into
one </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">work. People </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">cram the hallway</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">like a crowd on a train�the apartment </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">door�s open, letting in more </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">who yearn to be moved. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There�s little separation</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">between poet and audience� </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">all stand in the hallway</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">as we take turns reading </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">our poems excerpted </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">on the Poetry Door,</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">while surrounded by friends and friends</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">of friends. And strangers�</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">when the reading is over</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">the �Pop-Up Poets� </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">who perform </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">in real subways appear, </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">asking for nothing</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">but our attention </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">to what they voice.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Their energy consumes us</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">as they read their poems, </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">intertwining lines </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">borrowed from the Poetry Door.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Refined and outspoken, dramatic or subtle, </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">the poets are here, </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">except those who aren�t�</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">the dead and the living</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">comingle in words</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">painted on the Poetry Door. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Blake sits, invisible, </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">in a corner on the floor. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">From the other side</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I can almost hear Dickinson </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">trying to listen. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> �Laura Glenn</p>
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