"Marginalia" as part of a poetry writing course I took while living in England. At ten stanzas in length, it is a quick read, but it has lingered on in my memory in the decade that has passed between then and now. I am a margin scribbler (one reason I continue to resist the eReader revolution). I am a questioner, cheerleader, and snarky critic, armed with a #2 pencil.
If I said that my scribbling was confined to the literal page, I'd be lying. I equally question, cheer, and snark in my head as I "read" life's unfolding plot.