Poetry 7 June 2013 "Sisters": a poem by Grey Gowrie Sign UpGet the New Statesman\'s Morning Call email. Sign-up i m Robert Lowell after Rimbaud The child, lousy, ridden with eczema and scabrous, red and restless most of the time, lay near an open window and tried not to itch or fidget until the Sisters of Mercy came. Look what happens: they sweep by on cowls like boats to harbour from the azure blue off Collioure; all sibilants and vowels they set to work to make his wish come true. Even their breathing is like the summer day, heavy and floral, and he breathes them in with so much longing that he starts to cry. But then electric fingers play a tune through thick hair to shiver inside his skull from now on, though never better than this morning when each skittish silver nail tenderly crucified the little lice. Langour and excitement alternate within him: like Sauternes, like love affairs he’ll grow into and flee from. Sisters wait for him to thank them, puzzled by his tears. › “Utterly anti-democratic” This article appears in the 03 June 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The Power Christians
