Ah, praise be to the margins,
the only places I call my own.
Redecorate, make comment,
doodle or make complaint,
the margins are my safety zones.
While the rest of the page is fossilized
in words (some strange)
typeset in stone,
I write myself into the margins.
They are fair game:
snow covered fields the author has abandoned.
In academia, the margins are white columns
to support a palace of knowledge.
Pillars I greedily graffitied with sparks and false tries:
warning flares over dead zones,
and when the story ends,
a way to say goodbye.
Ahh, thank goodness for the margins,
so no one has to read alone.
©2025 | K. F. Hartless
This was written for d’Verse’s Tuesday Poetics: Diving in to the Margins. Won’t you join us?
Ondara “Saying Goodbye”





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