To I.S., Now In A Nursing Home - A Sonnet Poem by Lewis Eron

This morning’s mistress of word games and spelling
Who once could stand without notes and lecture for hours
Citing books and articles, and raising ferns and flowers
at home and disciples at school, now finds telling
time impossible and wanders, with tears welling
under her eyes, lost in within the walls and towers
of our mindless academy, studying funeral parlor calenders,
wearing breakfast on her blouse and smelling
not pleasant at all. Now she sits at the corner
Of time and space, her peripheral vision is 15 meters
And 15 minutes on either side, doing sums in her head
And the crossword in ink, with a buzzer to warn her
and us if she stands up to instruct her closest neighbors
Or asks if its time already for lunch, breakfast or bed.