Sensory imagery is the bridge between reader and writer — Wendy Okeke, Convener, Purge and Penance
…Says grief is a living force making the familiar foreign
By Flourish Joshua
Two weeks ago, Flourish Joshua sat with Wendy Okeke, a poet and convener of Convener of Purge and Penance, a captivating poetry event that examines the duality of release and reckoning. In this interview, she touches on grief and how to communicate it adequately through imagery. Counting influences such as Anne Sexton, Mary Oliver, and Ocean Vuong among others, she reflects on the role of mindfulness and self-compassion in achieving this task in her writing practice.
FLOURISH:
At Purge and Penance one of the poems that really stood out to me was “I Know You.” The body is portrayed in both a sacred and conflicted light, especially with lines like “your body, this temple of aching and hunger.” Tell me, how does the body serve as both a site of yearning and resistance in the poem? In what ways do you view the body as a reflection of the self in your work?
WENDY:
In “I Know You”, I acknowledge the duality of the body, the line “your body, this temple of aching and hunger” I see the body as a witness to the speaker’s experience not merely a passive observer but an active participant in the speaker’s journey. For me, the body is a vessel of reverence and a reminder of our vulnerabilities. I refer to it as a map of our journeys, a space where longing and endurance collide; a thing that shows proof of life’s sacredness and its fragility. It bears the weight of memory yet strives to transcend that weight. In my work, the body often mirrors the self—our struggles, transformations, and, ultimately, our capacity to heal and persist.
FLOURISH:
Again, I must admit my fascination with that poem. Your grasp of imagery is admirable. Lines like “you wash yourself with shea oil and sea salt” and “until the water drowns out her call,” creates a very tactile and vivid atmosphere in the poem. How does sensory imagery function in your writing? What is its role in capturing the emotional and physical states of the speaker?
WENDY:
Thank you for your kind words. Sensory imagery is indeed vital to my writing as it grounds the emotional and physical states of the speaker. I imagine it as a bridge between the reader and the speaker, immersing the reader in the speaker’s world. Lines like “you wash yourself with shea oil and sea salt” and “until the water drowns out her call” are intentional to create a tangible connection between the reader and the poem.
I seek to draw the reader deeper into the poem, nurturing a more intimate link with the speaker’s journey and making the experience more immediate and relatable. I believe sensory imagery functions as a conduit for emotion, allowing the reader to feel the textures, scents, and sounds that the speaker experiences. This enriches the piece, adding layers of meaning and amplifying the emotional core of the poem.
FLOURISH:
I remember also the poem, Grief is My Favourite Colour, which follows Plath’s confessional mode. I’m thinking of the comparison between Plath’s Cut and your poem, especially with lines that present grief almost like a living entity in the poem, something that transforms the environment, “splattering” on doors and “making mockery of warmth.” Is grief, for you, akin to a living element (water, fire) that distort our world?
WENDY:
Absolutely, grief is very much alive. It seeps into every corner of life, altering our perception and making familiar places feel foreign. It shifts form, becomes more than just an emotion—it is a living force that permeates the air, occupies space, and affects everything it touches. The line “grief is custard paint splattered on the doors, making mockery of warmth” mirrors my own experiences with loss, where grief felt almost tangible, reshaping my world and relationships in ways I couldn’t control. Like many emotions, it has a presence that demands to be acknowledged or even absorbed.
For me, grief is not static. “Grief is My Favourite Colour” was an outlet for dealing with my loss and observing my family cope with it as well. Writing about it allowed me to explore how its ghostly presence changes us and the world around us.
FLOURISH:
Lines like “we are only skin and bones,” in the poem suggest that grief has reduced the family to mere survival. It is reminiscent of Sharon Olds exploration of the personal in her poems. In your writing, how does loss reshape identity? Do you see grief as something that permanently alters the self, or does it offer a path toward transformation and eventual healing?
WENDY:
Loss, in my writing, acts as both a rupture and a redefinition. It reshapes identity by forcing us to confront our deepest vulnerabilities and fears. It can feel as though the very essence of who we are is being dismantled. The line “we are only skin and bones” highlights how grief can strip identity to its barest form, leaving behind something raw and unguarded. However, this process of deconstruction can also lead to a deeper understanding of ourselves. While deeply painful, grief compels us to reevaluate our lives, our relationships, and our sense of purpose.
I believe that grief permanently alters the self, but not necessarily in a positive or negative way. It leaves an indelible mark, a reminder of the love and loss we have experienced. We learn to carry our loss with us, integrating it into our identity in a way that allows us to move forward. It offers us a chance to rebuild. In the piece, I explore how grief can be both a destructive and a constructive force. Though healing is not always linear, it is a process of rediscovery.
FLOURISH:
Let’s move on to one of my favourites from that night. Your poem, Come Up for Air, repeats the word “breathe” in the poem over and over suggestive of a mindfulness practice. Also, the line, “You have come face to face / With your path and your mistakes,” reminds me of Mary Oliver’s “You do not have to be good. /You do not have to walk on your knees /for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting/ You only have to let the soft animal of your body /love what it loves.” Folks like Jane Hirshfield, Mary Oliver, and even Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh, have often noted the benefits of mindful breathing, writing, living. Is it a personal practice for you, or is it more symbolic? How does mindfulness influence your ideas of healing and creativity?
WENDY:
I’m glad you enjoyed “Come Up for Air.” The repetition of “breathe” is a deliberate reflection of mindfulness principles and the importance of grounding oneself in the present moment. I desired, with this piece, to evoke a sense of self-confrontation and acceptance, much like the sentiments expressed by Mary Oliver and other poets who emphasise self-compassion and presence.
Mindfulness, for me, is both a personal practice and a symbolic element in my writing. It has been a vital tool for navigating life’s complexities, offering a way to center myself amidst chaos. Focusing on the act of breathing is an invitation to find a sense of calm and clarity, which I believe is essential for healing and self-discovery.
In my creative process, mindfulness allows me to tap into deeper layers of emotion and experience. It helps me embrace the full spectrum of human experience, to be fully present with my thoughts and feelings, and to convey more authentic expressions in my work. It is a way of acknowledging struggles while also finding moments of grace and beauty.
FLOURISH:
Considering the line, “It’s only you in this picture, and you are going to be okay,” it is clear that in the poem, self-compassion and self-reliance seem primary measures to overcoming the speaker’s struggles, especially in the face of past mistakes. What is the place of community in healing, since the poem’s logic emphasises “only you in this picture?” In writing such poems, does the didactic lure you, as is often the case with poems that seek to directly ‘heal’ its readers?
WENDY:
Community plays an indispensable role in the healing process by offering support, understanding, and shared experiences. Though the poem focuses on the individual’s journey and personal accountability, it does not seek to exclude community from the healing process. Instead, it suggests that the foundation of healing begins within. It is through the strength gained from self-compassion that one can fully engage with and benefit from communal support.
In writing such poems, I am indeed drawn to the didactic, but not in a prescriptive manner. I wish to offer a space for reflection and introspection, encouraging readers to find their own paths to healing and to empower them to recognise their own strength. My intention is not to prescribe a specific way of overcoming struggles but to illuminate possibilities and create a sense of hope and resilience.
FLOURISH:
Much has been said of tone in poetry. Like most intangible things, debates on tone are endless. Mary Ruefle quipped, “A change of season is a change of tone.” The poem’s tone is both gentle and direct: “Remember that you are shelter for your sins./ you are vessel for your peace.” How do you choose the tone for your work? In your writing practice how do you overcome sentimentality?
WENDY:
Choosing the tone for my work involves a deep consideration of the poem’s subject matter and the emotional journey I intend to guide the reader through. I strive to balance empathy with honesty, ensuring that the tone resonates with the themes and experiences being explored.
Rather than avoiding or overcoming sentimentality, I focus on anchoring the emotional content in concrete imagery, precision and restraint. I allow the imagery carry the emotional weight of the subject matter.
FLOURISH:
Which poets or writers influenced your writing process, especially in terms of the themes of identity, emotional complexity, and the use of vivid, sensory imagery? Do you draw inspiration from specific works or writers when creating poems that delve into the complexities of human nature?
WENDY:
My work draws from a diverse range of writers whose approaches to identity, emotion, and imagery resonate deeply with me. Beyond poets like Mary Oliver and Sharon Olds, I find myself returning to voices like Anne Sexton’s raw, confessional style has inspired me to explore personal and often painful experiences. Ocean Vuong’s ability to weave memory and identity into vivid, lyrical narratives has profoundly influenced how I approach storytelling in poetry.
Ada Limón’s balance of vulnerability and strength, capturing fleeting moments with profound emotional weight, informs my approach to tone and perspective. Writers like Donte Collins, Yrsa Daley-Ward, and Warsan Shire have significantly shaped my work. These voices have been touchstones, guiding me in writing poetry that is curious, vulnerable, and grounded in the tangible realities of life.
ABOUT WENDY OKEKE
Wendy Okeke is a poet and storyteller whose work focuses on the complexities of the human condition, experience and interactions with the environment. Her poetry navigates the intersection of identity, grief and self discovery.
