It's late. I've come
to find the flower which blossoms
like a saint dying upside down.
The rose won't do, nor the iris.
I've come to find the moody one, the shy one,
downcast, grave, and isolated.
Now, blackness gathers in the grass,
and I am on my hands and knees.
What is its name?
Little sister, my indigo,
my secret, vaginal and sweet,
you unfurl yourself shamelessly
toward the ground. You burn. You live
a while in two worlds
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Comments about this poem (My Indigo by Li-Young Lee )
- if i were a day, i'd say, Mandolyn ...
- In bed, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- The real moments of truth anytime لحظات .., MOHAMMAD SKATI
- to the one who reads me every day on pur.., Mandolyn ...
- to the one who reads me every day, on ac.., Mandolyn ...
- WE POOR VICTIMs, Enoch Owusu Gyamfi
- Weekend thrill., Harold R Hunt Sr
- Just Before Dawn, Tosin Abegunde
- School., Harold R Hunt Sr
- One's greed leads to one's ugly and gree.., MOHAMMAD SKATI
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