Interview with Bella Koschalk
Delve into the significance of your line, "I let myself fall asleep." Why must we be gentle with ourselves sometimes?
My poem seemed to center around what healing feels like to me. That last line is about permitting yourself to be whole, to let go of the anxieties that tether us to our hurt. I do not think that creativity, healing, and kindness cannot occur if we don't nurture ourselves. It is so important to mother yourself sometimes. To care for yourself and acknowledge and allow for your own humanity.
How do you nourish your creativity with the delicious?
For years my mother, my siblings, and I would have tea time right before bed. It was a moment every day where the four of us could really be together and we would talk about everything, about our dreams the night. before, about school, about movies, about ice skating. My mother would make different tea concoctions all the time something— for sleep, something for a cold, something for anxiety. And more than anything I think the security of the ritual gave me faith in the power of all her flowery brews. Now I guess I'm the same way. It is something that I put faith in, something that I use to guide my creativity. There's power in trusting yourself to come up with the right blend of things to help you heal.
What is one of the most scrumptious lines of poetry you've ever feasted upon, and why did it fill you?
"you can only/miss the living/in a way/that ferries/marrow up/your spine" -sam sax, from his poem "Missing Persons."
This line acknowledges a sensation that is hard to put to words. It viscerally captures the physical experience of missing someone. And it distinguishes that from the experience of mourning and missing someone who has died. I guess it was one of those lines that hit me all over; that sent shivers down my spine because of its precision.
My poem seemed to center around what healing feels like to me. That last line is about permitting yourself to be whole, to let go of the anxieties that tether us to our hurt. I do not think that creativity, healing, and kindness cannot occur if we don't nurture ourselves. It is so important to mother yourself sometimes. To care for yourself and acknowledge and allow for your own humanity.
How do you nourish your creativity with the delicious?
For years my mother, my siblings, and I would have tea time right before bed. It was a moment every day where the four of us could really be together and we would talk about everything, about our dreams the night. before, about school, about movies, about ice skating. My mother would make different tea concoctions all the time something— for sleep, something for a cold, something for anxiety. And more than anything I think the security of the ritual gave me faith in the power of all her flowery brews. Now I guess I'm the same way. It is something that I put faith in, something that I use to guide my creativity. There's power in trusting yourself to come up with the right blend of things to help you heal.
What is one of the most scrumptious lines of poetry you've ever feasted upon, and why did it fill you?
"you can only/miss the living/in a way/that ferries/marrow up/your spine" -sam sax, from his poem "Missing Persons."
This line acknowledges a sensation that is hard to put to words. It viscerally captures the physical experience of missing someone. And it distinguishes that from the experience of mourning and missing someone who has died. I guess it was one of those lines that hit me all over; that sent shivers down my spine because of its precision.
Poetry Preview:
Ode to My Red Cuisinart Kettle
Ode to My Red Cuisinart Kettle
When we make tea, we become
witchy, we become our mothers.
In urgencies, I turn to bagged
lavender and chamomile
and let myself swallow it and it’s like listening
to my mother
saying prayers before bed to a god that will otherwise go
unmentioned.
I drink the world and it sustains me.
I wonder how thirsty I’d be without this red kettle.
We trace palm lines and listen close to loose leaf tea.
I address illnesses with hands like my mother’s:
Hands that tell homemade stories.
This is what it means to heal:
boil water and pour.
When we make tea, our hands are steady.
I say things with confidence
I love it here. I feel warm.
I remedy, I remedy.
My mother used to want to heal all that was numb in me,
all that stayed awake.
Now
I know answers
and I become woman
and I let myself fall asleep.
Bella Koschalk is a creative writing major at Idyllwild Arts Academy. She has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards for her poetry and fiction. She was a semi-finalist for the 2019 Faulkner Wisdom Short Story competition, as well as receiving an honorable mention from the Nancy Thorp Poetry Contest. Her work has appeared in CutBank Literary Magazine, Sonder Midwest, and elsewhere.