Crooked Tree Ekphrastic Event, February 2026

I realized today I neglected to share the poems that I contributed to the Crooked Tree Arts Center Ekphrastic Event last month. Here are the poems. I cannot share the art pieces that inspired them as I did not receive permission from the artists to share them, but here are my words anyway.

The Show

It’s downright otherworldly
once the house lights dim.
Doesn’t matter how big
or how small the venue is,
the collective holding of breath
before the first song begins
makes you feel less alone in the void.
Hearts pound before the drums do,
silhouettes take the stage,
and lungs release long held screams.
Anticipation satisfied.

There’s intimacy between
the performers and the crowd
and it’s made palpable
once the first riff pierces the air.
Familiarity in shared melodies.
The bond between band
and fan is breached when
the stars reach back
toward outstretched hands.

Proximity is everything
when it comes to a live show.
Musicians break the fourth wall
to show solidarity. Everyone’s there
for the same purpose, for the love
of the music. For the soul
of universal language.
For the forgetfulness
of whatever’s going on
outside the main doors.
For the chance to feel
the beat pulse within you.
For the feeling that in
this perfect moment
it’s a good day to be alive.

She Held the Stars

I once heard a story about a woman
who married the stars. But this
is a tale of releasing. There was
a time when she felt she had to
gather up all her brightness
and hide it like some kind
of interstellar hoarder. Life
is like that sometimes. It forces
you to dim yourself in order
to not outshine and attract
too much unwanted attention.

She abhorred the limelight.
Preferred to sparkle
from the shadows and draw
those who noticed
to her sputtering flame.

Then one day she realized
her light was beginning
to consume her
from the inside out.

She was bursting.
Ready to break free.

She put all her stars
in her resilient arms
and let them go
one by one. And her
inner colors radiated
from her entire being
until she no longer
recognized herself.
She felt lighter.
More free. People
noticed and they
loved her. They too
were inspired to let
themselves glow
and become beacons
for others. To surrender
to their own beautiful,
magical, incendiary souls.

Meta-lomania Myopia,
Desolate Dystopia

we don’t talk of loneliness
because our fingertips
should feel comforted
by silicon

look at all this,
this social-ness,
opportunities to replace
a face with the next
best thing

flawed facade / perfection

my home has walls
made of sliced bread
& they’re soft &
distant enough & no one
I miss knows where
to find me

but comfort,
why leave that?

we don’t talk of loneliness
because we don’t even
listen to ourselves,
we engage a screen,
tap it to see if it
still breathes
& I pray to everything
I don’t die with
my head bowed over one

& my avatar
will be the monster
in your nightmares

I make it known that I will
haunt-hack any digital
memorial imprinted
upon the m e t a v e r s e
in my honor

loneliness is a constant
companion & homesickness
is a fatal disease

they will discover
too many names
on my heart
& too many
faces in my
fizzing brain

they will find
my hands
empty & reaching

& they will
close their metallic eyes,
sigh, & comprehend

they will finally
understand

Image by Marcísio Coelho Mac Hostile from Pixabay