Looking for Theopista who is
called a saint, painted by Lippi
who is called by Browning a
brothel-john in monk’s clothing
and, in the poem, admits his
out-of-boundsness, and paints
Job nearby with a label “Job”
and made long love to a nun
and got away with it because,
rich Cosimo de Medici the Elder
told anyone who would listen,
Lippi was a heavenly form
in fleshy flesh, no dray horse he.

Looking for and finding the
woman of the lost-luggage cab.

And finding the woman of
middle-age elegance pushing
a wheelchair.

And finding the woman of
bare feet in moist black soil as
lots are cast nearby.

Looking at Luther and wife,
at Luther and Melanchthon,
at Cosimo’s grandson Lorenzo,
at a thick Roman head like
a Chicago grocery guy,
at the same woman in every
Botticelli Mary, already and
always enduring,

and, turning many corners,
to meet old friends never
seen before in person, and
smiling to be at home
— deep in the today of
ever-present digits —
with beautiful shadows.

And a few blocks away,
the golden doors (replica)
— and a few blocks further,
the golden arches.

Patrick T. Reardon, a Chicago Tribune reporter from 1976 to 2009, is the author of seven poetry collections. His latest is Every Marred Thing: A Time in America, the winner of the 2024 Faulkner-Wisdom Prize from the Pirate’s Alley Faulkner Society of New Orleans (Lavender Ink). He is a five-time nominee in poetry for a Pushcart Prize.