False Indigo

by kdillmanjones

famers market false indigo

 

I could avoid looking the farmers in the eye

with my extra large sunglasses.

So I asked what it was without even seeing him.

I have no idea still,

how his face was shaped,

but I memorized

how the azure buds soared.

“False indigo,” he said

to his reflection in my lens.

It climbed toward heaven,

reaching toward the solstice sun;

it grew in these very soils,

these Illinois soils.

“I’ll take it.”

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