A Sister of Mercy (Rev. 2)

[TranquillityBase]

A Sister of Mercy

You were on your way back to Ohio. 
On the last night 
we lay next to each other,
never touching
chaste as Tristian and Isolde.

You had milky skin, freckles,
pale brown hair down your back.
I still see you in the wild ravine
up at the narrows of Lake Travis
sketching grasses and flowers
while I wooed.  We only had a week.

In the darkness, bedded down in the living room,
we listened to the soundtrack
of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid at low volume.
Dylan’s chords and visions
could not cloud or interrupt
our whispers striving to at least 
meet each other in constant hope.

A Sister of Mercy



You were on your way back to Ohio. 

On the last night 

we lay next to each other,

never touching

chaste as Tristian and Isolde.



I still see you in the wild ravine

up at the narrows of Lake Travis

sketching grasses and flowers

while I wooed.  We only had a week.



In the darkness, bedded down in the living room,

we listened to the soundtrack

of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid at low volume.

Dylan’s chords and visions

could not cloud or interrupt

our whispers striving to at least 

meet each other in constant hope.







A Sister of Mercy







You were on your way back to Ohio. 



On the last night 



we lay next to each other,



never touching



chaste as Tristian and Isolde.







I can still see you in the wild ravine



up at the narrows of Lake Travis



sketching grasses and flowers



while I wooed.  We only had a week.







The final night,



listening to the soundtrack



of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid at low volume.



Dylan’s chords and visions



did not cloud or interrupt



our whispers striving to at least 



meet each other in constant hope.

[Valerie Please]

A Sister of Mercy

You were on your way back to Ohio. 
On the last night 
we lay next to each other in the night,
never touching
chaste as Tristian and Isolde.

I can still see you in the wild ravine
up at the narrows of Lake Travis
sketching grasses and flowers
while I wooed.  We only had a week.

The final night,
listening to the soundtrack
of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid at low volume.
Dylan’s chords and visions
did not cloud or interrupt
our whispers striving to at least 
meet each other in constant hope.

I like this, there's a sweetness to it and who can't relate to meeting someone briefly, having a connection, and then having to move on. I have one complaint:

On the last night 
we lay next to each other in the night,

Since there isn't a musical device at play here, I'd consider revising it so that you aren't repeating that word. Maybe "we lay next to each other in the dark" or something else.

(I want to come clean that I am getting my doctorate and I notice that sometimes I latch on the same empty academic word and come out with a phrase like: "the framework provides a framework" so I'm really sensitive to this issue.)

[TranquillityBase]

I like this, there's a sweetness to it and who can't relate to meeting someone briefly, having a connection, and then having to move on. I have one complaint:

On the last night 
we lay next to each other in the night,

Since there isn't a musical device at play here, I'd consider revising it so that you aren't repeating that word. Maybe "we lay next to each other in the dark" or something else.

(I want to come clean that I am getting my doctorate and I notice that sometimes I latch on the same empty academic word and come out with a phrase like: "the framework provides a framework" so I'm really sensitive to this issue.)

Good catch!  That's what I get for not reading it aloud as part of the editing process.

[brynmawr1]

A Sister of Mercy

You were on your way back to Ohio. 
On the last night 
we lay next to each other,
never touching
chaste as Tristian and Isolde.

I can still see you in the wild ravine        seems like removing further blurs the time frame of the recollection and makes it a little more immediate language
up at the narrows of Lake Travis
sketching grasses and flowers
while I wooed.  We only had a week.

The final night,                           not sure you need this, maybe replace with more of setting, mood information.....Under cover of candle light, we listened... but better!
listening to the soundtrack
of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid at low volume.    the bolded part is a fragment if you care.
Dylan’s chords and visions
did not cloud or interrupt
our whispers striving to at least 
meet each other in constant hope.

Hi TqB,
I like the title and the soft tone of the poem.  I can imagine the narrator so delicately navigating the push and pull of these types of relationships.  
Take care,
Bryn

[TranquillityBase]

A Sister of Mercy

You were on your way back to Ohio. 
On the last night 
we lay next to each other,
never touching
chaste as Tristian and Isolde.

I can still see you in the wild ravine        seems like removing further blurs the time frame of the recollection and makes it a little more immediate language
up at the narrows of Lake Travis
sketching grasses and flowers
while I wooed.  We only had a week.

The final night,                           not sure you need this, maybe replace with more of setting, mood information.....Under cover of candle light, we listened... but better!
listening to the soundtrack
of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid at low volume.    the bolded part is a fragment if you care.
Dylan’s chords and visions
did not cloud or interrupt
our whispers striving to at least 
meet each other in constant hope.

Hi TqB,
I like the title and the soft tone of the poem.  I can imagine the narrator so delicately navigating the push and pull of these types of relationships.  
Take care,
Bryn

Thanks Bryn.  I've edited it a bit with your notes in mind.  The title is a borrowing from Leonard Cohen's song The Sisters of Mercy, first heard in Altman's film McCabe and Mrs. Miller, o so long ago.  

[Mark A Becker]

Hi Tim-

Alrighty then, sounds like more than a sister of mercy to me.

And I can definitely relate to the soundtrack of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid.

Cool beans,
Mark

[TranquillityBase]

Hi Tim-

Alrighty then, sounds like more than a sister of mercy to me. 

And I can definitely relate to the soundtrack of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid. 

Cool beans,
Mark

Thanks Mark.  I had not thought of this incident in the life of a young poet in.....probably decades.  Reliving it in the poem is a wonderful balm.

[brynmawr1]

A Sister of Mercy

You were on your way back to Ohio. 
On the last night                                 Have to admit, I am torn about this change
we lay next to each other,
never touching
chaste as Tristian and Isolde.

I still see you; milky skin, freckles,
pale brown hair down your back,          rearranged for your consideration
wild in the ravine
at the narrows of Lake Travis
sketching grasses and flowers             tried to think of another word for 'wild' above to use wild here before flowers
while I wooed.  We only had a week.

In the darkness, bedded down in the living room,
we listened to the soundtrack
of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid at low volume.
Dylan’s chords and visions
could not cloud or interrupt
our whispers striving to at least 
meet each other in constant hope.

A Sister of Mercy



You were on your way back to Ohio. 

On the last night 

we lay next to each other,

never touching

chaste as Tristian and Isolde.



I still see you in the wild ravine

up at the narrows of Lake Travis

sketching grasses and flowers

while I wooed.  We only had a week.



In the darkness, bedded down in the living room,

we listened to the soundtrack

of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid at low volume.

Dylan’s chords and visions

could not cloud or interrupt

our whispers striving to at least 

meet each other in constant hope.







A Sister of Mercy







You were on your way back to Ohio. 



On the last night 



we lay next to each other,



never touching



chaste as Tristian and Isolde.







I can still see you in the wild ravine



up at the narrows of Lake Travis



sketching grasses and flowers



while I wooed.  We only had a week.







The final night,



listening to the soundtrack



of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid at low volume.



Dylan’s chords and visions



did not cloud or interrupt



our whispers striving to at least 



meet each other in constant hope.

Hi TqB,
I like the changes/additions.  Made some additional suggestions as options to consider.  I still really like the title, so many nuanced relations (no pun intended) with the poem.
Well done,
bryn