The merchant republics are done
as is the nun
who forbade us aged five to say
we were done.
The oven door opened
in her mime
the door to the oven
where we were thoroughly roasted
and done. 
If you are done
that means I can stick
a fork in you. You
she corrected
are finished.
Finished
with all that some days
it seems a dream
the long boredom
in the schoolroom
workbook assignments
rushed through straining
toward what weird
consummation?
Sister Lucretia—
she was another one
terrifying the children who braved
the zenana of nuns
pledged to Christ and torture
of the wayward souls who ventured
into the sanctum sanctorum
the private apartment of six nuns
for a weekly piano lesson.
Bach had twenty children
she declared. Her heart was given
to a Texan—Van Cliburn.
A wimpled nun
one of the last
thus to dress among the remaining Franciscan