Just a drop of indigo darkness

An autumn-ish poem

Photo by Jimmy Yang on Unsplash

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When I first published this poem on Substack nearly two years ago, I talked about what it’s like to write a poem intent on describing exactly what you see, and then read it later and discover that you’ve described something else as well, without realizing.¹ My conclusion then is my conclusion now: “Sometimes a poem knows more than the poet does. And some of the best poems happen when the poet forgets what she thinks she knows and just pays attention.”

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THE LIGHT WHEN THINGS ARE CHANGING                                        2013


There must be a word that painters know for the light
when things are changing — the way the sun’s rays, 
at certain times and angles, seem to mix with just a drop 
of indigo darkness, just enough to deepen 
every shadow, large and small, to trace the outlines
of every leaf and roof-tile and banner, every field of sky,
their colors concentrated, poignant as inlays in ebony; just enough,
that single unseen indigo drop, to change daylight into a reminder
that night is coming.

                                       Autumn, long ago, when I noticed, 
for the first time, this shadowed clarity — earth and sun, I thought,
angling toward winter, and for years I watched for it,
a sign of the season’s turning; but now, in springtime,
I see these softer, newer colors dappled, defined
by their own coming midnight. Will it be true 
in summer, too, I wonder? Is the sun changing, 
slowly, the way it touches earth? Or have my eyes,
over years, grown like a painter’s in one way
at least, more able to discern, in every season,
every changing moment, how color and darkness 
mix and hold each other, outline and deepen
the truth of light in shadow, shadow in light?

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1. I’ll let you discern what the “something else” is that this poem describes, or if I’m just imagining things. (Not out of the question.)