Epiphany at the St. Louis Art Museum

—In hoc signo vinces

What degree of separation took
them up Art Hill? At first they mistook
King Louie’s Apotheosis¹ for the monarch
they sought, not knowing that Jesus
had arranged to hang out with friends
at the boat house after the miracle, knock
back a few beers, maybe have a burger
and talk some scat by the fire blazing
on the hearth. Once inside the museum
they’d found their ritual Adoration²
and set their gifts on the frozen steps
of a new order, haunted by those bronzy
blank eyes and the upraised hand that held
a sword aloft by the blade so that its haft
assaulted them with an obscene cross. Their
rich robes sparkled with gold, as angels
a seeming artist’s afterthought, perched
in ridiculous rafters. Jesus glanced up
from his mother’s bosom and blessed them
already looking forward to his walk across
Post-Dispatch Lake and the cheer he’d find
on the other side. Dark out, so no one would
observe him on the water, much less see him
arrive; he’d always enjoyed the look on
people’s faces when he just turned up
like that, out of nowhere.




¹Apotheosis of St. Louis

²Adoration of the Magi