by Maryellen Bova
My walls standing
tall, lean and firm
in my six story structure
The girl from 1M bending and straightening
her pink ankle socks
Me, nicely settling in a neighborhood
that has seen many different faces
going in and out
of my revolving doors
She wiping a scuffmark
from her patent leather shoes
Aromas escaping of garlic and burnt popcorn
filling my hallways
Andy Dowes from 2O propping open
the fire exit door
She pulling up her white tights
bought from Woolworth's
I know the stories of the families here
She tugging at the hem of her white cotton dress
so it’s falling right past her knees
Many families living within me—
the O'Briens, Delgados, Harolds…
She gliding her tongue against her teeth
Doug Caulhin a firefighter living in 3L
drinking heavily
and falling down the stairs
splitting it open right there
last Saturday on my second floor landing
She untying a pink ribbon
from her tangled golden hair
and tying it again
Mrs. Grilspoon in 4E dying three weeks ago
and the neighbors waiting a week
before calling police
who stagger down to the third floor landing
from the stench
She running her fingers through her pigtails
and straightening out the knots
Mr. & Mrs. Reed in 5S being robbed
last night
when someone was climbing down my fire escape
carrying the toaster her mother gave her
She straightening her shoulders
pretending a book is on her head
Rocco, the superintendent's son, inviting seven guys
from the neighborhood to play in vacant 6T
She taking a deep breath
turning the knob
to the door of apartment 6T
which I wish was not part of my structure
because she's been invited, too.
