Sumaiya Matin: I’m delighted to be in conversation with you about your latest poetry chapbook titled What If Maybe and Other Poems, edited by Puneet Dutt and published by Baseline Press. This collection of nine poems, some previously published in literary magazines such as The Fiddlehead, The Humber Literary Review, The Temz Review, Queen’s Quarterly, Pleiades, is wondrous—in how you play with language, [un]tangle intricate themes, draw out a range of emotions. I read the full chapbook in one-go, on a Sunday morning with coffee in hand, in the backyard under a gentle sun and my day was enlivened. I am still thinking about your words. So, all this to say, thank you for taking the time to discuss your poetry practice with me today. I’m excited!
SM: How does it feel, having What If Maybe and Other Poems out in the world?
Salma Hussain: JOY. Pure and utter JOY. Poetry for me is free and freeing. No constraints. No pressure. I don’t busy myself thinking of the sales or marketing. I don’t worry about their reception out in the world. Poems are fragments and little gifts sent out into the world. They are birds that owe us nothing and belong to no one. I am glad to see them out in the world, wild and free, doing their thing.
SM: For those unfamiliar (or familiar) with What If Maybe and Other Poems, how would you describe this chapbook? Are there particular themes or messages you intended to explore in the poems or was their arrival spontaneous as you wrote?
SH: To me, What if Maybe is a miniature collection of free verse, experimental poems that consider the push and pull of family, faith and fate. These fragments of lyrical prose came to me at a difficult time in my life and Karen Schindler of Baseline Press generously and kindly saw something in them that compelled her to share with other poetry lovers.
I am always a little surprised by the arrival of any themes or meaning in my writing. However, I am not surprised by the themes that continue to fascinate/plague me. In one way or another, I have always been grappling with these three themes (family, faith and fate).
SM: While reading the collection, I resonated with (in my subjective experience) the threads of hope/yearning and presence, as well as the unsealing of suffering—historical/political, physical—survival and surrender. You didn’t just write about pain but also, the other side, as if they were both one of the same. A wholeness arose for me in that sense. I’m curious about your experience with permeability in poetry—how do you create poems permeable enough that they allow for a range of emotions to pass through, from and to (in interconnection with), the receiver?
SH: First of all, you ask really amazing questions! I hope you know that.
Secondly, I’d like to plop this poem by Rumi as a partial answer to this question –
If you are seeking, seek us with joy
For we live in the kingdom of joy.
Do not give your heart to anything else
But to the love of those who are clear joy,
Do not stray into the neighborhood of despair.
For there are hopes: they are real, they exist –
Do not go in the direction of darkness –
I tell you: suns exist.
As most writers, I am fascinated by the dance between light and darkness in our lives and in our writing. As racialized and gendered (and Muslim-ed—yes, my word) ‘Others’ I find that it is not only subversive to balance the writing of pain and trauma by writing about joy, but that such balance is a critical part of our strategy for long-term survival. We do not only live in darkness so why would our writing be confined there?
SM: How much do you think about narrative framing when you write a poem or string together a collection? What is the relationship between storytelling and poetry from your perspective?
SH: I think about narrative framing quite a bit, and that’s because I wrote prose for years before I ever contemplated writing any of my own poetry. And I still write a lot of prose! I’ve written two young adult novels: (The Secret Diary of Mona Hasan, Penguin Random House 2022) and there’s another one on the way (It’s Not Over Yet, Penguin Random House 2026), so my mind is always drawn to, thinking about and concocting longer forms of story-telling.
I see storytelling and poetry as close relatives (albeit they grew up in different climates and cultures and don’t always speak the same language)—there’s a familiarity and comfort between the two but the lens through which they look at the world is different. Poetry allows for brevity, fragmentation, implication and silence in ways that traditional storytelling does not. That said, even in the most lyrical or abstract forms, poetry often hints at a story – something has happened before, something is coming after, or there’s an unspoken story sleeping within a poem. For me, storytelling in poetry is less about plot and more about emotional progression: there’s an emotional depth or insight that moves the reader through time, memory and/or transformation.
SM: To build on the prior question, I’m curious about the continuity of the narrator between the poems. Do you see the collection as a single narrator’s story or thoughts/emotions in motion, or several narrators?
SH: Your questions somehow keep getting better!
I love this question because you have not conflated me, the writer, with the narrator or narrators of my poems.
There are indeed several different narrators in this story, which speaks to my very fractured upbringings in vastly different cultures and family structures. Some narrators are much older, and are looking back upon life, and some are standing with both feet firmly planted in the joys and terrors of childhood.
SM: On a related note, you’re also a novelist. Prior to this chapbook, you published your debut novel, The Secret Diary of Mona Hasan, which is about a young girl’s immigration and menstruation journey. What was your journey like, going from the world of novel writing to poetry? How is the process of writing poetry different or similar to writing a novel?
SH: To me, embarking upon a new novel is like climbing a rough and rocky mountain. I am there to see the view from the top and nothing less. Finishing a coherent draft is the whole point.
In contrast, writing poems is like swimming in a warm and calm sea. Watching the sun, sky and sea glitter and shine, taking deep breaths and diving deeper—that’s my aim and intent when working on a poem.
That said, I would also say that revising and editing scenes from a novel is like immersing myself in a warm body of water, and putting together a poetry collection is akin to setting off for the big, scary mountain. Isn’t that funny? I guess both demand a specific type of attention and effort at their different stages of becoming and being. Both exercise different muscles, both offer up different lessons and both challenge and nourish me.
SM: In my opinion, including languages other than English in poetry, generates personal connection and authenticity in voice. You also reference current and past events that may or may not be known by your readers (e.g. the poem ‘Our Heads of State and the States of Our Heads’). Could you speak to how you balance expression with relatability in your poetry (and in particular when you’re exploring specific political and historical elements)?
SH: This question about relatability is one I do get every now and then. I want us all to question: who should my poetry be relatable to? And what does relatability mean in our multicultural reality?
I grew up in the Middle East surrounded by polyglots. Even today, most people I know speak multiple languages. There are more multilingual speakers in the world than there are monolingual speakers. Weaving in and out of different languages is how the majority of the world speaks, so I rarely wonder or worry if my readers will understand a linguistic, cultural or historical reference. It’s totally ok when or if they don’t—it happens to me all the time too! The hope and intent are that in any artwork I’ve created, I’ve stoked enough curiosity that readers want to look up the unknown element(s) and/or ask around.
Like music, I believe poetry has the power to transcend literal comprehension. One doesn’t have to understand every word in a song to feel moved. So, again I hope that I’ve created enough musicality in my poems that readers are delighted and intrigued and not put off that some words are in unfamiliar languages and/or about lesser known political/historical events.
SM: I’m fascinated by your approach to form and structure of the individual poems, particularly your experimentation with free verse. What draws you to free verse?
SH: The short answer is lack of skill. 😀
I read a PHENOMENAL cento by Susan Robertson in her chapbook (So I Go, Baseline Press 2025) and now all I want to do is create a good cento! I’m also doing a deep dive into triptychs, sonnets and ghazals.
I love the play and possibility of free verse but I would like to experiment with form poetry in the near future as well.
SM: Many of the poems in this collection were previously published in other literary magazines. The collection was edited by Puneet Dutt during the publishing process with Baseline Press. As you worked on the poems over time, how do you feel they have evolved? Has your artistic voice shifted and if yes, how so?
SH: Puneet was my dream editor on this project. I had long admired her poetry and waited with bated breath to see if she might have the availability and inclination to be an editor on this chapbook. She encouraged me to read out each poem, noting breath and pause. To Puneet, the ear is as important as the tongue. Sight and sound and speech must all work together. I’m a stronger writer after Puneet’s meticulous care and consideration to every word, comma and pause.
SM: Writing poetry is often a raw emotional experience and there’s a lot of subjectivity in how a poem lands to the writer/receiver. To follow-up on your answer to the previous question, how did you navigate the editing process which can sometimes feel like an operation of the heart?
SH: Again, I lucked out. Puneet and I have many points of connection. I was working under an editor with a fascinating, layered and complex life story of her own. Puneet is no stranger to raw, emotional experiences and so I trusted her immediately with my work. The editing process was grounded in mutual respect and admiration. This did not feel like an ‘operation of the heart’ as I am my own most ruthless editor and I’m not sure if anyone can be more critical than the imaginary critic in my own head.
SM: I’m in love with the sensuous, grounding imagery in your poems, such as ‘I Want Every Summer,’ and ‘Screamsong.’ What does your poetry practice look like, entering into the head and emotional space of crafting such evocative images/scenes?
SH: Quite a few of my poems are ‘response poems’—i.e., I’d read a poem from someone else and it would inspire me to create my own version. For example, ‘I Want Every Summer’ comes from having stumbled upon Aimee’s Nezhukumatathil’s ‘Baked Goods’ at a time in my life when I most needed it, and then wanting to pay homage to it. The title ‘Screamsong’ comes from a phrase in Lidia Yuknavitch’s memoir, The Chronology of Water, which then also influenced the use of the swimming pool as a setting and the floating and drowning imagery.
SM: Do you have other poems or poetry collections in the works? Are there any themes or topics you are particularly interested in exploring at this time?
SH: I do have many other poems! I would love to put a full collection together one day. In the interim, I’m interested in doing another chapbook because the effort brings me so much joy, and the community is the cherry on top. Are there any other themes or topics? I fear that the push and pull of motherhood and mortality, illness and legacy; in short, family, faith and fate—this holy trinity is going to keep me occupied for a while longer.
SM: Thank you again for sitting with me today. What If Maybe and Other Poems, to me, is a collection about survival, endurance, optimism, and interconnection. It’s touching, and I can still feel the imprint of your words. I’m pleased I had the chance to read it. I am looking forward to your next work.
Salma Hussain grew up in the UAE and immigrated to Canada as a teen. She has a BA (Hon) in English Literature, with a concentration in creative writing from the University of Calgary, a law degree from the University of Calgary, and a Master’s in Law from McGill University. Her poetry and prose have been widely published in various literary magazines. Her chapbook of poetry, What If Maybe and other poems, was published by Baseline Press this summer and is on its second printing.
Publisher: Baseline Press (August 2025)
Chapbook: 5.75″x 7.5″ | 32 pp
ISBN: 978-1-998521-07-4
Sumaiya Matin wears many hats as a writer, social worker, educator and public policy professional. She holds a Master of Social Work and is currently working toward her Master of Fine Arts (in Creative Writing) at the University of British Columbia. In 2021, she released a literary memoir titled The Shaytan Bride: A Bangladeshi Canadian Memoir of Desire and Faith (Toronto: Dundurn Press, 2021). She lives in amiskwacîwâskahikan (
