Annotations
I don't like to fold pages
I cringe at the very notion of a cracked spine
I grimace at the smell of fresh ink,
Caked in the margins.
And yet--
Your pages are wrinkled,
Chapters folded at the corners.
Your poor, poor spine is creased.
Broken along the bindings.
And the ink--
Endless and bottomless and black, black, black--
Scribbles and notes and laughter and jokes--
Annotations,
Piled between lines,
Hastily stuffed into margins.
Painted onto ivory flesh
With every intention of becoming a tattoo.
Your--our--book stays sprawled
Open.
Selfish hands
Carding through old chapters,
Folding tattered pages.
And carving ink into our--
My--
Flesh.
Sarah Boland '26 participates in school extracurriculars such as Vidya Club and Flag Football. She often creates works of poetry and fiction, and loves to indulge in literature in her free time.