I was first introduced to Maggie Smith鈥檚 poetry when I read her poem, 鈥淕ood Bones.鈥� I do not remember where I was or how I came across it, but I do remember clinging to its last words, 鈥淵ou could make this place beautiful.鈥� For a poem that lays bare the brutalities that mark the world, the reader is startled by Smith鈥檚 invitation of beauty, her hope for restoration.
There鈥檚 more room to hold the world鈥檚 despair and hope, its grief and joy in Smith鈥檚 new collection, A Suit or a Suitcase, as the poet turns an inward eye to the shifting landscapes of the self. With incisive and tender language, Smith interrogates the body鈥攈ow it widens and collapses, empties and fills, as it moves through the past, all the while straining against the weight of memories.听
Smith writes in 鈥淏eside Myself鈥�:
听 听 听With each breath I鈥檓 pulling
听 听 听myself together. Cinching
听 听 听the threads. Oh little shadow,
听 听 听falling away from me,
听 听 听come back. Oh self,
听 听 听crayoned outside the frame,
听 听 听come back, come back.
A Suit or a Suitcase is a door cracking open, the kind of homecoming that beckons you to stay.
Tryphena Yeboah: How does writing change the way you see the world and the way you see yourself?
Maggie Smith: I鈥檝e been writing since I was in middle school鈥攎y son鈥檚 age now鈥攕o I hardly remember processing experience without writing. I鈥檓 not sure who I鈥檇 be if I hadn鈥檛 discovered poetry as a teenager. But as an adult, I鈥檝e brought my life to the page, the joy and grief and confusion, and finding a shape for those experiences has been foundational for me. Writing helps me contextualize. It gives me perspective. Writing makes my life more legible to me.听
TY: In A Suit or a Suitcase, you write about the self鈥攁nd the multitudes that exist within鈥攚ith such candor and wonder. Can you talk about the risk of vulnerability in your writing and if this has always been an intentional choice?
MS: Vulnerability doesn鈥檛 feel like a choice. I think we have to be vulnerable when we write, but that doesn鈥檛 mean we have to say or show everything to the reader. I鈥檓 an open person, on the page and off, but there are still parts of my life I keep to myself. If I hold something back, it鈥檚 because I value privacy, and in particular the privacy of other people in my life. The balance between vulnerability, honesty, and privacy is something I think about a lot, both in poetry and in nonfiction.听
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TY: I loved coming across questions in the poems: 鈥淗ow do I get back inside myself?鈥� or 鈥淲hat can I carry forward except these reminders?鈥� Was there a guiding question that was important for you to capture on the page?
MS: I think each poem brought its own set of questions and concerns with it, and that鈥檚 what was important for me to capture. What is the speaker grappling with? How do I find the language to articulate that? When I write, I鈥檓 having a conversation with my mind on the page, so each poem is, in a sense, a translation.听
TY: You write beautifully about nostalgia and memory, change and movement, and the dance between the past, present, and beyond. What do you remember about writing these poems? Are there particular moments of surprise that have stayed with you?
MS: Thank you for the kind words, first of all! Most of the poems in A Suit or a Suitcase were written between 2020 and 2024, but a few were written years earlier and a few were written more recently. This is always the way: I write one poem at a time, and I write slowly, so years pass before I have accumulated enough poems to start thinking about whether I have a book. But when I return to the poems, I do remember the inspiration, and I recall parts of them coming together in revision. Each poem has its own origin story. The newest poems in the book are 鈥淒ocument鈥� and 鈥淭his human life,鈥� both of which were added to the manuscript in 2025. Those late, late-breaking poems were a wonderful surprise! I鈥檓 always delighted when a poem unexpectedly knocks at the door.
TY: In 鈥淵ou Ask If I Believe in the Afterlife,鈥� you write: 鈥淚f I鈥檓 wrong / about the afterlife, I say, I鈥檇 want to be / a sun-dappled stereo. My own mind / playing song after song, a hell of a score.鈥� What is your relationship with music and does this overlap in any way with your writing?
MS: Music is the artform I engage with the most, even more than poetry. I listen to music all day long, depending on what my schedule looks like. (Obviously I can鈥檛 listen to music while recording a podcast, or doing a book event onstage, but while writing, and showering, and driving, and walking the dog, and cooking, and folding laundry? Yes!) The overlap with writing, really, is that music is what led me to poetry. I started writing poems before I started reading much poetry, but I was already a huge music fan as a young person, and I listened to songs over and over, trying to understand the lyrics. I think that鈥檚 where it all began for me.听
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TY: What would you say to people who want to be more creative?
MS: I am constantly learning and unlearning my own limitations. In the last few years I鈥檝e been traveling beyond my comfort zone, which is poetry, and venturing into essays, memoir, children鈥檚 books, and fiction. Sometimes I lose my nerve, as we all do now and then, and I have to remind myself that writing is writing, and I can learn what I don鈥檛 yet know, and I just have to keep going. I need my own pep talks sometimes!听
TY: A catalog of poets and poems that have stayed with you over the years:
A poet you鈥檒l read anything by: Matthew Zapruder
A poet that inspires you: Victoria Chang
A poem you know by heart: 鈥淭he Jewel鈥� by James Wright
Two nightstand poetry collections: The Collected Poems of Stanley Plumly and the latest collection by Lauren Camp, Is Is Enough
A collection you鈥檒l read again and again: Song by Brigit Pegeen Kelly
A poem for summer: 鈥淪un In Days鈥� by Meghan O鈥橰ourke (this is a poem for all seasons, and it鈥檚 heartbreaking, but it has such gorgeous summer imagery)
Two poems for a hard season: Rilke鈥檚 鈥淕o to the Limits of Your Longing鈥� and Kim Addonizio鈥檚 鈥淭o the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall鈥�
Two poems for a good season: anything by Saeed Jones or Gabrielle Calvocoressi
A poet you鈥檝e recently discovered: Lisa Low
Two poems we should read after reading this interview: any two poems recently featured on !
is an award-winning New York Times bestselling author of poetry and prose and the host of The Slowdown. Her books include A Suit or a Suitcase (Washington Square Press, 2026), Goldenrod, Keep Moving: Notes on Loss, Creativity, and Change, Good Bones, The Well Speaks of Its Own Poison, and Lamp of the Body. Smith鈥檚 poems and essays have appeared in Best American Poetry, The New York Times, The New Yorker, The Paris Review, Ploughshares, The Washington Post, The Guardian, and elsewhere Smith has received fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Ohio Arts Council, and the Sustainable Arts Foundation.
is the author of A Mouthful of Home (Akashic Press, 2020). She teaches English and creative writing at Tennessee Wesleyan University.
