Mia Sloan
Interview with Aimee Nezhukumatathil
As a writer, Aimee Nezhukumatathil wears many hats; her published work spans both poetry and essay collections. However, a reader’s first impression of her body of work immediately reveals shared essences that rise to the surface like a landscape in snowmelt: Nezhukumatathil’s devoted attention to the natural environment and invitation to revel in wonder, and the possibility of both to transform how we understand ourselves in relation to the world. With honors including a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Pushcart Prize, and a National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellowship, Nezhukumatathil teaches English and creative writing at Mississippi State University and is a firefly guide for Mississippi State Parks. Nezhukumatathil’s forthcoming book of poetry, Night Owl, will be published by Ecco in March 2026.
WASHINGTON SQUARE REVIEW: Do you remember when you first began to think of yourself as a writer? How has your sense of identity as a writer shifted across genres––from poetry, to nature writing, to memoir?
AIMEE NEZHUKUMATATHIL: I think I first felt like a writer the moment I realized that stories—and poems and metaphors, even—could bloom on the page long before I ever dared speak them aloud. As a kid who moved so often, who sometimes lived on the grounds of psychiatric hospitals––my mom was a psychiatrist before she retired––and felt like a guest everywhere, writing in composition books and the outdoors were the things that never made me feel out of place.
Over time, my identity as a writer has widened: Poetry gave me permission to love the world out loud; essays taught me how to wander longer inside a question. Memoir feels like the weaving of those threads into a map of wonder and survival. I guess you could say for me, moving across genres feels very natural, just like opening another door in the same house of curiosities.
WSR: What draws you to both poetry and nonfiction? What parts of yourself do they allow you to explore?
AN: Poetry is the burst of image—like spotting a flash of blue in the garden and realizing it’s a bird you’ve never seen before (like an indigo bunting—a bird I’ve only seen once in the last decade). It lets me leap, trusting that an image will carry me safely to the other side. Nonfiction, though, is the question that lingers. It’s following that bird (or really, question) through the branches, learning its habits, asking it more and more questions. I find in essays, some truths reveal themselves quickly, and others ask me to walk with them a bit more. Poetry opens the windows; essays open doors. Poetry lets me praise; nonfiction lets me puzzle. But I have learned over twenty-five years as a professor/writer that I very much need both.
WSR: What advice would you give yourself as a younger writer or poet?
AN: I’d tell her: trust the strange shape of your own noticing and wants. The way you pause for the smallest mushroom or the most vivid blue delphinium—that’s not a distraction. That’s your gift. Don’t waste any time on any dumb boys who make you feel silly for noticing the outdoors and little details. Let delight and curiosity lead you. And I would verrry gently but firmly tell her: get over yourself if you think you have writer’s block. Just go outside! I’d also tell her that her attention to detail and a little bit of nerdiness are her superpowers. And not to worry about writing like anyone else. The world already has them.
WSR: Your essay collection World of Wonders: In Praise of Fireflies, Whale Sharks, and Other Astonishments spans nature writing and memoir; you bring together observations of the natural world with personal stories of growing up in the United States as a child of immigrant parents, beautifully rendering the natural world as a site of belonging, reciprocity, identity, and awe. You also recently published another essay collection entitled Bite by Bite: Nourishments and Jamborees, in which you explore how food evokes memory and identity––similarly eliciting themes of astonishment. How do you think about curiosity, wonder, awe, or astonishment in your writing practice? What other guiding tenets shape your work?
AN: Wonder, for me, has never been a soft or fragile thing—it’s muscular. It’s the way I steady myself in this world. Growing up in places not meant for children— hospital grounds, rented rooms, or places where we were the only Asian family for miles—I learned quickly that noticing could be its own shelter. Curiosity keeps me coming back to the page, but astonishment is what keeps the page lit. I return to what thrills me, what puzzles me, what glimmers in the corner of my day. Both World of Wonders and Bite by Bite come from that place: the belief that joy can be a form of resistance, and attention can be a form of love. Astonishment is my compass—I write toward whatever makes me gasp, even a little.
WSR: You have new poetry collection, Night Owl, published by Ecco in March 2026. What did the process of assembling this book look like for you? How has your process evolved from your earlier collections?
AN: Assembling Night Owl meant listening closely for a kind of nocturne, a music that threaded the poems together. I put them on the floor in my living room, moved them into constellations, un-constellated them, rearranged them again. I wanted the book to feel like a night walk where one small glimmer leads to another. I didn’t set out to write a book about the night. I just kept finding myself pulled to the quiet hours—those pockets of darkness when the house settles, when teenagers finally sleep, when a mother’s mind can wander without interruption.
My earlier collections were shaped by daylight: bold colors, bright creatures, the kind of wonder that practically announces itself. Night Owl is more of a listening book. It asked me to pay attention to what hums beneath the surface, to the soft (or loud!) moments and images that only appear when you slow down, put screens away, and take in the world around you.
WSR: What does your writing and creative practice look like in the rhythms of your day-to-day life?
AN: My practice is that there is no practice, ha ha. At least not since grad school! But that’s okay—I have learned to love it and if I had an actual practice that means all my sons have moved out of the house and my parents’ don’t need me and my husband doesn’t want to spend time with me and I can’t even type that out or imagine it because I genuinely enjoy their company so much and I’ll start crying and not finish this interview! The truth is, my life right now is such that I cannot count on hours each day to write. Doctor’s appointments, tending to my mom, student conferences, travel for visiting schools and libraries, driving my high school son around to cross country practice, et cetera (to say nothing of, you know, hanging out with pals or my family) all factor in my weekly schedule. And I wouldn’t want it any other way, truly. I do know that if I skip too many days (or weeks) writing in a row, it’s a lot more difficult to make writing I actually am interested in. So that keeps me motivated to get to a desk or coffee shop before too long. When I was a hapless chemistry major in college who dated dopey or insecure boys, I never thought I’d have a fraction of the life I have today, so I take none of it for granted. But not going to lie, I am very intentional and protective about having my summers with my loved ones: reading, swimming, writing, hiking, and plenty of time in the garden. That grounds me through the happy chaos.
WSR: What are you currently reading?
AN: Seed catalogs for my 2026 garden. Baker Creek, of course, is already dog-eared on my coffee table. But I’m also reading nonfiction books on color and flowers. And oh, I’m tackling I, Medusa by Ayana Gray as my reward at the end of the semester. I sometimes teach contemporary Greek Mythology retellings at the university and this one is a page-turner. Also on my coffee table: chapbooks by my former students: There are No Filipinos in Mississippi, by Noreen Ocampo; and Paper Money, by Winshen Liu. Next up, a novel I’ve been meaning to get to: A Guardian or a Thief, by Megha Majumdar!
Aimee Nezhukumatathil is the author of seven award-winning books spanning poetry and essays. She teaches English and creative writing at Mississippi State University.