On Viewing Marsh’s “Hauptmann Must Die” at the Indianapolis Art Museum

In a train station two women sit on tall-backed benches in dim light

shadowing all but a trapezoid on the floor behind their seat.

Three suitcases pile between them,

square brown and round purple under rusty red.

One woman stares through her left eye, the right hidden by cast shadow and a hat.

Only white-gloved hands show light. One holds a brown purse

sitting stiffly on a lap. Tatty fur drapes angularred

blue and white and short crossed booties, the left hidden by a case.

The other woman holds a newspaper at arm’s length,

a bold headline—Guilty—on both front and back page.

With nearly-closed eyes, she reads, gray-blonde hair

matching a face broken only by burnt orange lips.

The newspaper looks yellow beside white gloves sitting

on charcoal under a dark purse. Thick ankles look like boots

where they meet the top of  ribboned heeled shoes. 

A tarnished umbrella leans on a leg, setting off a beige bag 

nearly hidden in the dark echo of bench and dress.

The guide talks of modernist isolation in an increasingly mechanized world.

But you disagree

“You can tell they’re together by the suitcases.”