People who don’t read poetry often avoid it because it’s “inaccessible,” confusing, compressed, and in need of very focused attention. They want to figure out the puzzle, rather than let the poem wash over them, ask it questions, and read it again. To me, poetry is far more accessible than many novels; of course, it’s what I do and what I’ve studied, but poetry also provides the reader with a burst of self-sustaining energy so powerful that it blows me away. Poetry is immediate. Cognitively, I can pay attention to it without getting lost or forgetting plot points.
Poetry is also easier to read for me, physically, than prose. My eye doesn’t need to move as much in order to keep up. What is inaccessible to most readers offers me access to the world of words, to my world, where poetic lines serve as a form of automatic doors, or elevators, or accessible parking spaces, ramps, lowered countertops. It invites me to experience it without discomfort. Poetry shapes itself around my needs, unless the page is bright white or the print is incredibly small, or the pages so thin that the letters swirl together, backwards and forwards.