From the Margins (A Poem)

By Joyce Jacobo

[Author’s Note: I love to experiment with new ways to tell a story. Hope you like this one.]

I was in amid a poem

   about an expansive forest with pine trees

    whose branches glinted in the moonlight

           as if covered in ice crystals

           on a certain        late summer evening

      while overhead              

            radiant              silvery streaks

               glided across a heavenly blanket

                   brocaded by stars

All the creatures in these woods took notice

       of the phenomenon in their own special way—

             from the deer as they ran among the undergrowth

                                  at each silent shot

              to the owls perched within their inconspicuous nooks

                       whose heads swerved to trace the rapid progress

                                   of these strange visions

                                        as they appeared

                                             then soon faded

It was such a quiet            and peaceful scene

       I noticed when a sad        little sigh came

               from somewhere in the margins

                       which surrounded this text

Startled       I called out     “Goodness, who are you?

                                                      I thought that I was alone”

             “I am A Character who Lives in the Margins

                                    came the reply

                  I must wander along the edges of literary works

                             written and in progress

                        Although sometimes….

                                I can rest beside them

                                       but…

                                           only for a while”

The character sounded              regretful

            (or so it seemed to me)

         and I asked       “Do you ever step

                                              into the pieces you read?”

“Never

        I cannot make that transition by myself

              Besides…”            a long pause followed

                      “Without a place for me

                              it would ruin the work”

“Unless you have a place made”

         I returned           as an idea took root in my mind

                “So please come in            and enjoy

                             this cosmic event

                         meant to show a connection

                                    between many different types

                                                                                   of souls”

As such the         Character Who Lived in the Margins

           stepped onto a high knoll in my textual forest

                  a large     silver fox           with bright blue eyes who

                            turned her gaze skywards to enjoy her first

                                                    nighttime shower

                                       as a Character Who Lives in the Text

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