You were promise, curving
like the round of my belly
as light through crystal,
yellow to green to blue.
You were my secret, spilling
like sand from the bend of my elbow
into the way my hair tickled your face
as I lifted you.
Or was it you that lifted me?
You were hope,
now more than ever beyond grasp,
with a smile too wise to acknowledge death
and recognition in your eyes.
Yes, you were promise
like dew in the boughs of the willow
curving always away.
The following poem is the one I posted about that sparked the internal conversation regarding plagiarism, and the poem I've posted above. I've emboldened the nine words that sent my mind on a tangent. As you can see, the poems are vastly different, and address a different subject matter altogether, yet, this poem will never feel like my own because it is so completely the offspring of the weather, on Sunday. The title is linked directly to the poem in its original context at Moontown Cafe.
the weather, on Sunday
night air has draped itself around us like an envious world.
but we are
otherwise engaged within
you have seen the swirls
curving round between our secret
in through me, out of you
for some reason, we had one.
i see another summer from our separate houses:
perfecting the art of being
living out of windows, listening on
i can still hear your thoughts from this place.
if love were water
i'd be walking on yours.
i'll let you
dress me. undress me.
show me intention and that of the winds.
do not permit me to leave you.
let the weather change your life.
i know you have
been picturing yourself here
above me, below me.
trying to recall just how it is i move
who i am, how i got this way.
the taste of me
at different times of day
in various spots along a vertical drop.
no previous viewings of undilluted me
had ever made someone do those things
let alone be brave enough
to think they could hold me
while on fire and burning.
i want you to grab my hair on Sunday
pick me up and lay me down- come curve up
this time touch.
i have been picturing you here, inches from
another bite of lower lip.
i hear you locking my strands around your wrist,
close up inside.
so near to my heart, you can feel it
coming for you.