Haven’t You Ever Wanted to Use the Word Indigo?
by Lyn lifshin

the way it rolls off your tongue, blue,
mysterious. It’s rather old fashioned tho
but when you run out of words for the
blues, doesn’t indigo give it a little
class? Then, I think of Millay with her
indigo buntings, curled on the same
velvet couches I have tho they’ve been
re-covered, not indigo but a chocolate
brown. One visitor stopping at Steepletop
in Edna’s last years mentioned how
shabby the sofas were. I think how
Vincent gave up her velvets, lovers, drugs
for the stillness. Except for the buntings.
But I digress. Indigo. I had to listen to
The Indigo girls, found I liked their name
better. I’d like to say I found the metaphor
to cinch this poem, to pull any reader
into Indigo ecstasy when I found some
E Mail about the film Indigo Children
but when I put the name on Google,
what I read lacked all iridescent blue,
that startling hypnotic glistening. Less
there than the marine’s startling icy eyes,
indigo jolting as sequins from deep under
ground as my real life pales.


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