HAVEN’T YOU EVER WANTED TO USE THE WORD INDIGO?

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