As the pages of this chapter are gone, thus ends a chapter of my life. Of pain, love, tears, smiles, trouble, confusion, learning, teaching, dying, living. The covers of the book draw closer to each other. Then a slam. End of volume. On to another, new book. Still part of the same series, same characters, facts stay the same. But it is also a new volume. Fresh, clean pages. How many more volumes and pages will there be? Enough to fill a whole shelf? A whole wall, an entire room? Or will the pages cease to flutter forward, the narrative dwindle in mid-sentence...
by Jena Marie

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Not quite a poem, yet not quite an essay. Poetic narrative? What category does this fall under?
Any ideas, email me

jena@usa.net