WILLOWS: tell us about you, and your relationship to making, creating, or finding your way through expression. in your current craft, how did you get started?

NUPUR: writing has always been my way of metabolizing experience through a kind of internal system. since middle school, i’ve relied on language almost like a formula: breaking feelings down, turning them over in words, arranging them into rhythm or image, and seeing what emerges. this approach became especially serious in grad school, when i was on my own for the first time and had no familiar people or routines to stabilize me. writing evolved from journaling into a structured framework i could return to—something consistent amidst uncertainty. i wouldn’t say i “chose” to write; i realized that certain truths only revealed themselves when filtered through this methodical process. also, it turns out talking to yourself in full sentences is less weird if you do it on paper.

WILLOWS: what was your process in making this piece? what are your inspirations? how long did it take you? how many iterations did you go through?

NUPUR: oenosis emerged from the emotional fallout of a friendship that had become destructive—one that everyone around me realized i shouldn’t be in long before i did (source: several friends literally celebrated with party poppers and champagne when i ended it). the poem came together very quickly, driven by the volatility of my feelings as that relationship unraveled. it began with the realization that i was addicted to her, and then spiraled outward, capturing the tension, intensity, and contradiction of our connection, before i could start whittling away the excess noise. i went through fifteen iterations, each refining both structure and emotional clarity, and part of the process involved having my boyfriend insist i get feedback on my essay from a lovely friend with a master’s in literature—a little humiliating and vulnerable, but ultimately invaluable. the work was still guided by my systematic approach: running experience through repeated drafts until the emotional and formal architecture aligned.

WILLOWS: out of all the worldly macerated delights, why did you choose to use wine as a metaphor?

NUPUR: wine felt inevitable as a metaphor for this poem because it mirrored the intensity and danger of the friendship that inspired it. the person i wrote about was a high-functioning alcoholic, and our closeness was deeply intertwined with her drinking. i found myself drawn into patterns i knew were harmful, almost following suit, and we ended up in situations that were frightening and unpredictable during most nights out. wine’s sweetness, intoxication, and potential to spoil captured both the allure and the risk of that dynamic: what initially felt like warmth, connection, and devotion could also dull my judgment, blur boundaries, and become corrosive. the poem itself became necessary since real closure wasn’t possible—our friendship ended over text, and i knew any attempt at accountability in person would be futile. using wine allowed me to hold both the pleasure and the danger in the same image, reflecting the addictive, volatile nature of the relationship without simplifying it. a small part of me is still amused that a poem, rather than a confrontation, became the vessel for the ending i needed.

WILLOWS: can you share more about the etymology of the greek root word & how it informed your titling of this poem?

NUPUR: the title, oenosis, is derived from the greek word oinos, meaning wine. i adapted it into a coined form by adding the suffix “-osis,” which in greek can suggest a process, condition, or transformation (i looooove a made up word). in my thinking, this allowed the word to gesture toward becoming-wine, fermentation, or alchemical change—both literal and metaphorical. i imagined the suffix as a way of turning wine into an action, a process, or a state, rather than a static object. it isn’t standard greek, but it carries a sense of familiarity while remaining slightly strange and mysterious, which felt right for the poem. the title reflects the transformations explored in the work itself: sweetness turning into ache, intimacy into intoxication, and pleasure into potential danger. choosing this word allowed me to anchor the poem in its central metaphor while keeping it open enough to hold tension, uncertainty, and the alchemical qualities of both wine and human experience.

WILLOWS: what else are you working on? where would you like to go in the future of your craft(s)?

NUPUR: i’m constantly writing, though i don’t consider myself a “writer” or “artist” in any formal sense—I just have a lot to say and want to make it a fun or at least engaging experience for anyone reading. at the moment, i’m developing a my substack called the stew, which is still very much in its early stages, and i’m learning the ropes as i go. it’s a place where i gather and spill the contents of my mind—personal reflections, curiosities, and explorations—so i have an archive of what i’ve written and a space to see how my thinking evolves over time. on it, i’m currently exploring topics like ancient cults, critical theory applied to contemporary media, and threads of personal reflection that intersect with broader cultural questions. alongside this, i’m always working on poems, letting them function as experiments in thought, emotion, and form. looking forward, i hope to continue building this hybrid practice—where essays, poetry, and other experiments inform each other—without forcing myself into traditional “project” structures. i’d like to deepen the interplay between personal observation and critical reflection, exploring the small things that fascinate me and pushing them outward to reveal larger patterns. ultimately, i see my craft as a space to keep thinking, testing, and communicating ideas that matter to me, while keeping the process playful, rigorous, and generative.