Deemed a fake in ’81, dumped like old
shoes into storage, the painting now they
say may be a Rembrandt. Worth stacks of gold
they say. I wonder what Rembrandt would say,
spirit hovering there in ether, view
he never knew as earth artist…no need
for gold now, so precious when alive…Who
judges my art he might murmur…Who bleeds
as I bled to capture curve and shadow
true to each wrinkle, each eyelid…One winter
at a Christmas party years back…I bowed
speaking with a lawyer…So you’re a writer
he said…Yes I said…I’ve always wanted to write
he said…I smiled...droned my verdict: Then you should write.
Roger Armbrust
August 31, 2020
