Notes About The Poem

Rue Misericorde is french for Mercy Street

Mercy Street

Fish scale sequin  
Burn unit skin  
Glittering in the blister  
DNA altered by radiations kiss  
Chromosomes twisted like transistors  
Sunlight falls around the sister  
She hums her prayer in the morning dew  
In gardens beyond the walls  
Where patients cannot crawl  
To puff on cigarettes

She walks the realm of the undead  
The absent minded  
The ones out of body  
Floating between the wards  
Geriatrics and psychiatry  
Pop the pills and pray for peace  
Luminal states glowing in the crease  
She thinks that is where God might be

She waits with the diva in sequins  
Burnt to the shins  
Removed of all sins  
The priest left hours past  
She looks into the poor girls eyes  
Waits for any sign  
Lightning in the sky  
Iris at night  
Sleep too bright

But shepherds are rarely seen  
In this quiet realm  
Where the only sound  
Is the beat of the machines  
As they pump out the last signal  
Total eclipse of the heart  
Gone too soon  
Never to part  
Words recorded on rings  
In ceremony  
In spring

The world turns on a string  
Cosmic and stretched thin  
Will they remember  
The summer of loves surrender  
When the girl who came from the street  
Died in the heat

Journalist captures the kiss  
Riot in the street  
Rue Misericorde  
Mercy Street  
Emergency needs

Nun closes the eye  
Coins for the ferryman  
Cross over the river  
Cross to the sea  
She gives the body to time  
She leaves the bedside  
The sequins fall to the floor  
The diva has been here before

Forty hours in the sun  
Eyes burned from the light  
She saw it flicker  
Saw it fade  
Not ready to end the phase  
The shift  
The drift

The moment at the door  
Three times knocking

She tries to see  
Who answers the door  
Who waits  
Who wakes  
Who stays  
Who suffers the silence of remaining

She waits her turn  
Spinning the wheels of fate  
Dancing along the periphery  
Of destiny

Is she the guide  
Or the obstruction  
Clear the channel  
Empty the cell  
This is the moment no one will tell  
But she remains  
To gather up the dust  
When the moment is rust
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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Smith  Avatar
July 28, 2026 at 2:43 AM
Beautiful music brings this tale alive ( bad pun )
Bernatchez Avatar
July 28, 2026 at 5:21 PM
Thank you. I don’t think it’s a bad pun at all — it’s true. Music adds dimension and expression to poetry, and sometimes it brings the whole piece alive in a different way.
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