Kyra J. Liedtke is a crafty poet who resides in Cincinnati, Ohio. Their work draws deeply from the natural world –– forests, mountains, creeks, and fields serve as both mirror and metaphor in their exploration of the human condition. Through these landscapes, they translate thought into verse, using nature not just as backdrop, but as lens and language. Their poetry seeks to understand humanity by tracing its reflections through the wilderness.
What past event do you often reflect upon, and how did that event change you?
In a wild collection of events, I found myself in Albuquerque, New Mexico, in the midst of 2020. I became friends with a sweet human named Victor, through our deep conversations over Baja Blasts and long walks all around the evening hours. One night, we drove to the highest point above the city. That was the first time I felt what it was like to look into the sky and see every star one could imagine. Tears started streaming down my face, and Victor saw this place that he has tried to leave his whole life through my eyes. At that moment, we both understood the world was beautiful even in the seemingly stagnant states.
How does your work add to the quality of your life?
Writing allows me to capture the chaos in my mind and study it. I thrive at looking through life in depth. In order for me to peel back the world’s secrets, I use writing as a way to understand the lens I am looking through. The colors, shapes, and sounds that make up my perspective are incredibly fun to play with as if they are Legos or Play-Doh at the kitchen table. Writing is a game that I never grow out of and reminds me to, in fact, keep playing.
Tell us a story you would like to share with the world.
I am an incredibly ticklish person. In middle school, many people knew this and definitely used it against me –– as middle schoolers do. There were these really tall windows that lined one wall of the cafeteria. You had to wait in the lunch line against these massive windows. I had the habit of staring off into space when waiting in the lunch line. The habit of dissociation and my Achilles’ Heel of being ticklish made me a prime target for middle school jokes. Someone came up behind me and stuck their fingers into my sides (this is called tasing) which caused me to scream, bash my body against this window, and fall to the floor. The cafeteria went silent and I was as red as the harsh Floridian summer sun.
Author photo: Courtesy of author
Side bar image: Pixabay/Edar
