Scribbles & Marks



I am the scribbles and marks
in the margins of your memoir;
random ink, red, black, indigo
and smudged graphite, gray.
 
I am a midnight afterthought
but one worth writing,
framing the factory print,
the mundane and ordinary,
rows of the same small letters.
 
I am your thoughts never lost,
the imperfect prose a passerby’s
finger finds, curious eyes see.
 
I am an out-of-place footnote
that clarifies your biography.
 
I am part of you, your life story,
scribbled words though I’ll be.