Question 1

January

Accepted Answer

By Julie Ann Ball   the Lake is silent, stark and still dark ice in the night a mirror for the dawn stars fall, suns rise above the horizon standing still and steady absolutely cold in January breathing out, a ghost escapes in steam and in, an icey gasp betides the day no room for mourning morning cracks the night another day is born before the last is silenced in the Lake

Question 2

Sub-Zero Snow

Accepted Answer

By Julie Ann Ball 
sub zero snow  does not fall pretty from the sky on stellar flakes, drifting and landing on woolen sweaters and tongues held out for sweet cold touching, melting on rosy cheeks and hot lips sub zero snow glistens like diamonds against the night landing in rainbows for sunrise under east shadows from the Lake sub zero snow is crunchy underfoot it takes a breath and a breath to taste the cold it brings sub zero snow is bright under sun blinding the beginning of the day inviting one more truth

Question 3

April Floods

Accepted Answer

By Julie Ann Ball   rivers in spring measure time in granite with anchors. deep set rocks bedded in glacial midnights, millions of dreams pass all the raging roiling rapids foam at the mouth when it meets the Lake in a pocketful of agates that float and sink each one a story from a spiraling flood memories all mixed up with this dawn rising, swollen beyond a rosey glow

Question 4

Echoes

Accepted Answer

By Julie Ann Ball   echoes across the hillside lilies-of-the-valley and lilacs on an early spring behind thundering midnight, and sudden flashing into the calm eye of twilight apple blossoms the splitting of the sky, naked in the night behind that single so quiet moment, so still to stop my heart and my breath, that single moment ripped out of me in rumbling and lightning echoes across the hillside, promises heavy with dew scent, sunrise across the Lake

Question 5

Irrevocable Trust

Accepted Answer

By Julie Ann Ball   unalterable granite cliffs rise from the Lake a pond of lilies blooms in summer sun tiny agates show along the path a thunderstorm rainbow puffweeds in parachute American Goldfinch, nesting and two cardinal families in the neighborhood who sing a morning alarm just at dawn the sun drips up from the Lake in prelude echoing across the hillside unalterable

Question 6

Aurora Borealis

Accepted Answer

By Julie Ann Ball   let us lift our heads in prayer high cathedral ceilings arch overhead deep in the midnight sky, silky Lights a silent church organ pipes behind horizon bass and high C treble acapella choir sing without voice, without word, from the balcony lifting a prayer past the top of the sky past the beginning of the universe past the end of all time and a mist comes from the Lake like a linen sheet, a cover for sleep

Question 7

Superior

Accepted Answer

Question 8

In Autumn

Accepted Answer

By Julie Ann Ball   love belongs to people whose hearts have been broken and october sky is absolute blue after noon, shadows long and leaves are golden coins in puddles at sunset and moon rises from the Lake, dripping yesterday the footprints on a path left behind and october sky sings in the night, claimed from summer and across the milky way is absolute blue midnight and silence fills the cathedral overhead a quiet path in autumn

Question 9

The Lake

Accepted Answer

By Julie Ann Ball   The Lake is warm today steam rises in thanks to dawn early sun, newly awakened is winter Light, a promise for tomorrow and tomorrow to come

Question 10

These Days

Accepted Answer

By Laura Stratford   these are the days
we cried in fear of
in november
anno domini 2016
and our fathers
told us not to
overreact.

Question 11

Breathe

Accepted Answer

By Laura Stratford   I am twenty-two when the first panic attack hits Twenty-two and waiting tables Paid in proportion to stress-- The crazier the day The more likely I’ll make rent. Twenty-two and starting to feel faint: The thick root of my tongue Swelling in my throat, The tree of fear Branching through my chest. A squeeze around the heart, My ribs a cage grown too small, The hall-- A tunnel retreating A trick shot Hitchcock’s Vertigo not vertical. ​ Breathe. Close my eyes. Imagine white light radiating from the walls,  trickling through the brick, down  To the basement where I start my shift, haloing the air: This place is safe. This place supports me. ​ Head up the stairs and out the door. It didn’t work. I’m sick, something’s wrong, something is Wrong.  ​ Quit the job, New Year’s day Fetus-curled, tented under blankets In the friend’s home I am sleeping in Since mine became an enemy My bed an alien land The emergency lights across the alley A never-ending shout for attention, A dare to try to sleep. ​ Cradling the phone Begging my father to come, come now-- As if the strength of my need could surpass The speed of sound, the cost of planes, The cancelling of plans. Come-- I cry, In between the gasping sobs Wrenched from lungs that everyone keeps reminding to Breathe.  ​ It’s just that I feel like I’m dying [I tell my general practitioner Who clicks her tongue and tells me to wait.] It’s just that my adrenaline Has been running like a herd of buffalo Through the bluffs of my body For three days straight And I’m afraid that I’ll be the one Who falls off the cliff. ​ Don’t overreact, she says. I’ll see you Monday. ​ Try thinking about something else, My mother advises. Something positive. I take a breath, That breath they tell me will solve it all Slow, and measured, Cool air through the nose. ​ “It isn’t what I’m thinking,” I explain. “I know I can change that. It’s the flood of liquid fear Circling like coolant through an engine. It’s the constant fight-or-flight And the tongue swelling up  And the heart gripped in a vise And the room moving when I don’t, Which, I’ll just mention Make it hard to focus  On puppies or whatever.” ​ I check myself into the emergency room. I know my life is not in danger, except I also know it is: I will not survive feeling this much longer. For the first time, I see the option  Of a self-serve ending, not as an end In itself, but rather, a choice to end pain. ​ Can’t you sedate me, I ask, I understand the body, I’ve read up on The relevant biochemistry,  So knock me out, I suggest,  Let’s unplug the machine and plug it back in. See if that fixes the problem. ​ It turns out when you call in the cavalry, Sometimes the cavalry calls back. I find I’ve been conscripted. The price of an urgent care stay is An intensive outpatient program. ​ Tell them I’m in the wrong place, It’s not for me, I’m not this bad, And they smile their sad smile Far too practiced--I realize Everyone says this. Saying it means I’ll stay longer. ​ In the asylum In among the inmates Sanity starts to look Decidedly insane. And worse, I’m one of them. No journalistic mission here. Now I’m crazy, which must mean I don’t know what’s true. ​ Day by day ​ Pill by pill ​ Counselor by psychiatrist by therapist ​ I rebuild my life. ​ I become so stable, ​ I don’t quite believe How bad it was. ​ I work in an office. ​ I quit drinking. ​ I buy a condo. ​ I fall in love. ​ I’m happy, I’m together-- ​ My new mail-order prescription Messes up. So I go to the pharmacy But they can’t fill a mail order It will take a week to fix this ​ And I think, “I’m so much better How bad could it get--” In three days, my answer. ​ As the fireworks burst overhead As I can’t breathe  In my boyfriend’s lovely house I can’t eat his mother’s Steak and corn, I tightly smile and focus On their stories of neighbors long gone So I don’t feel The tongue taking on weight The clamp to the chest The water to the eyes My body screaming, “hide!” And I burst into tears As they drive me home, unable To explain what’s going on. ​ How humbling to know After a decade of success, Stability, new dreams, I am, at any time Twenty-five milligrams away From being right there, Curled up on my friend’s bed Pleading with my father To come now ​ And for god’s sake Please don’t tell me To breathe.

cycles circles & seasons

Circles Cycles & Seasons: A program of new music by Elizabeth Rudolph

Litany

Featuring