is missing,
stolen in 1990 from Boston’s
Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum
by enigmatic thieves.
Rembrandt’s only seascape,
its frame hangs empty on the wall
in hope for its safe return, the Director says,
though it has been 31 years.
Still, the gift shop offers prints of the scene.
The disciples are all there, Judas too, though no one
is specifically identified. If convention holds,
likely he is the one in deepest shade,
off by himself, a fearful crouched figure, dimly lit.
Or else he’s the man in scarlet holding his head,
back turned from Christ in faithless terror.
Rembrandt is there too, disguised as crew,
also holding his head while clutching a rope,
looking out as if to ask what we might do
were we in his place. The distraught disciples
have roused Jesus from sleep, reproaching him,
Master, how can you sleep with all this going on? Save us!
At the bow, waves lash the ship so it tilts
at a dangerous angle. The sails are full,
tipping the boat towards the darkened sea
while men cling to masthead or rigging for dear life.
All this I see standing before the empty frame
in a museum filled ceiling to floor with priceless art.
What was lost looms large.
The thieves only took 13 items, a coincidence,
like Jesus and the 12 in the boat?
The absent painting dominates the room,
not unlike the way a hole left by a missing tooth
worries the tongue, the way an empty seat at the table
defines the space. Soon Jesus will speak the calming words,
command the wind and waves, soothe his comrades’ fright.
But from where I stand that word is not yet,
the storm rages on, and a curtain drapes
where a masterpiece once hung,
waiting for what may never be returned.
–
Katherine Maynard is an author from South Burlington, VT, although originally a “flatlander” from Chapel Hill, NC. Her work has appeared in Sojourners, St. Katherine’s Review, Kodon, His Magazine, Welcome Home, the online anthology Lament for the Dead, Kakalak, and NC Bards. She teaches humanities and communication at the Community College of Vermont.