A suit or a suitcase poems

Detail Detail You're the kind who looks at a painting and wonders what's happening beyond the stretched canvas, where it wraps around the wood frame, as if it were a detail from a larger work or, like a photograph, one small scene inside a wider one, curated by the eye. You wonder what's beyond the bowl of fruit, beyond the gray sea with its meal of wrecked ships, beyond the mother holding her burning, red-cheeked child. You're the kind who thinks there must be more than this, more than what you see. The kitchen might be filling with bees, drawn buzzing to the bowl of red and yellow apples. And the waves, the waves might be ruffling white and folding over on themselves-- breaking, breaking like a fever. Excerpted from A Suit or a Suitcase: Poems by Maggie Smith All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.