Memoir... of sorts (for Ian)

I read... a lot.  Every once in a while I read something which, even though the story line is different from mine, simply resonates on an almost under-skin level.  Ian Cron*s sort-of memoir carries that resonance for me.  I am not a prose writer, but I realize it*s what I want to do with the reflections I write, and why I started blogging in April.  It*s the preaching voice, I think.  And what better way to preach, than with our lives?

I want to walk down the street

So people see me

And say

You look familiar

Don*t I know you?

Haven*t we met?

Even if we*ve always lived

On opposite sides

Of the country.

Even though we*ve never met before,

I want them to recognize

The particular way

I favor my right foot

Pluck a blade of grass

Notice the wind blowing the pines

And that shimmy

They do.

I want to write so well

That people read it,

See themselves

Mirrored

Echoed

Common humanity

New possibilities

Formed,

Grace glimpsed.

Even for them

As much as for me.

That would be writing

Well enough

And then some.