Announcing the Winners

of the First Annual

Patient Press Poetry Contest

for Cystic Fibrosis

"Putting it in Words"

First, on behalf of Kathleen Rooney, Theresa Peters and myself, I would like to offer a great congratulation to each of the contest entries.

The judges had great difficulty deciding on the winners of the contest, and found all of the entries to be unique, honest and brave in their telling of the CF story. I sincerely hope that you each keep writing, and submitting to Patient Press and other publications, as well as publishing your amazing work on your blogs, on CysticLife, and your personal web-pages.

With great thanks,

Mary ElizaBeth Peters

Founding Director, Patient Press

HONORABLE MENTION: Layne Simpson* **

Petitions, Prayers, & Meditations on Euclid Avenue

(Beneath the Mammoth Monolith of Miracles)

WINNER, ADULT ENTRIES: Emily Alston-Follansbee**

I Knew and I Did Not

WINNER, YOUTH ENTRIES: Michael Riddle***

Untitled

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (ROONEY): Eliza Callard

Sestina

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (M.E. PETERS): Chelsea Allaart

Breathe

(Sierra's Gift)

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (T. PETERS): Spencer Riddle

Treatment or Two

Please read the winning poems, below:

HONORABLE MENTION: Layne Simpson* **

Ms. Simpson is the aunt to two CF patients, Theresa and Beth Peters . She works for Washington University in St. Louis , Missouri .

Petitions, Prayers, & Meditations on Euclid Avenue

(Beneath the Mammoth Monolith of Miracles)

“Lo...Lo...Lo...Lo”

“Lo...Lo...Lo...Lo”

Palms up, fingers stretched, vision closed,

My mantra through the summer, “Lo...Lo...Lo...Lo.”

Called as if a nun, monk, priest, rabbi, a country preacher,

Surrendered to prayer, petition... petition... petition!

Breathe...

Breathe...

Breathe...

BREATHE... for Lauren!

Breathe for Lo...Lo...Lo...Lo!

Sweaty, sweltering, summer days in St. Louis,

My breath, my energies, to your second set of failed lungs.

You, in an induced coma for the summer.

I, faithfully, hopefully, whisper/chant your nickname,

“Lo...Lo...Lo...Lo,” while waiting,

Pressing two fingers to my lips

With every shoop, shoop, shoop of the helicopters.

I am not part of your world-wide prayer chain,

Which covers you twenty-four hours a day.

But I have geography on my side!

I stroll directly beneath the mammoth monolith of western science,

Deliberately stopping on the corner of McKinley,

Turning to face the temple, repeating...repeating...

“Bring those waiting, their organs.

All deaths be peaceful.

All caregivers have a nice day.”

I still mourn the spring death, the year before,

Of the daughter of John and Mary Tucker,

John, Jr. preceding Kelly.

Feeling their grief, sadness,

Every Mother's Day, every Father's Day.

I can not have Lo go that way too.

At summer's end, her gift arrives!

I sometimes curse my connection to cystic fibrosis,

Two nieces – one gifted, one waiting!

Waiting...waiting...waiting.

While I walk to work under the mammoth monolith of miracles.

WINNER, ADULT ENTRIES: Emily Alston-Follansbee**

Mrs. Alston-Follansbee does not have a family history of CF, but has a friend with CF who is awaiting transplant. She works as an elementary school teacher in Boston, Massachusetts.

I Knew and I Did Not

I met a girl.

My brother died on hot Chicago pavement.

This girl taught at my school, but she was out sometimes.

I picked up his bloody ring in a plastic bag at the morgue.

The girl had cystic fibrosis, someone at school thought.

I have organ donor on my license, but I don't know if my brother did.

Cystic fibrosis, I said, doesn't that mean you die when you're 35?

My brother died when he was 35.

Oh, the girl seemed fine. Kids in line, school lunch.

Travel to trial for the freak who killed my brother, like a tendon torn from my neck.

Winter-to-spring, the girl turned into a person, a funny person with a faint squeak in her voice.

She was from Chicago, and my belly lurched. Had she read the story in the papers?

On her porch, she grabbed at her oxygen tube, bending it, as if to cut off

her own oxygen – mocking the mobsters on tv.

Cars hummed by, and we pondered romance and pizza.

Someday my friend would need new lungs.

What ever happened to my brother's lungs?

I do not recall what the medical examiner said, although he reported that the heart burst.

My friend got sicker and she visited the hospital.

In between she had her cats and her funny jokes.

She had had to follow a routine strict and bottled - military medical.

Suddenly slowly into the hospital one bad bad time and she was trying to be alive.

I knew and I did not, like my own lungs, my impotent hands, my baby brother's dead heart, and lungs.

Sorry to my dear friend that the timing was not right,

and sorry but he was so torn up his lungs may not have been intact

and he would have given them, like the pickled-salty food he shared from his plate,

and the old Simpsons videos.

I knew and I did not, why some lungs go and some stop. Hers are waiting, living, and shiny-bright.

WINNER, YOUTH ENTRIES: Michael Riddle***

Michael is an active teenager with Cystic Fibrosis.

Untitled

My weight goes up and down

In which i hate

My doctors watch it to see if i need a g-tube

i lose pounds that fits the doctors criteria for a g-tube

so i have one and its ok but its my second one ‘cause the first one fell out

when i was asleep so to the present

i was in the hospital ‘cause i was sick and lost 6 pounds so i got admitted

at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, MD is my hospital

the nurses are like my friends ‘cause they always say hi to me in the halls

My favorite nurses are Shannon, Jeff

So im at home and i miss my friends Shannon and Jeff

Oh and by the way Help Kick CF Forever every little bit helps

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (ROONEY): Eliza Callard

Ms. Callard is an active adult with CF.

Sestina

I can’t imagine the feel of the weight

of the news told my parents, their eyes red;

outside the hospital a verdant June green.

Then the shifting, adjusting, trying to find comfort in friends—

they suddenly young, my parents suddenly old.

Trying to understand the motives of nature.

Deciding there are no motives in nature,

and learning to bear more easily the weight.

Coming to hope and believe their child would get old.

So we were surprised seventeen years later to see a stream of red

when I coughed—sitting on the floor watching the news with my parents’ friends—

when my lungs had only ever yielded yellow and green.

I felt hopelessly inexperienced and green.

A friend told me to imagine nature,

to imagine a beach, the sand and waves my friends,

the way the ocean moved, the way it

pulled. In the bathroom, liquid red

still rumbling from me to the old

sink, the mirror lying to me, saying I was still seventeen years old.

We drove through the humid green

spring day, but soon I was in a bed, willing a line of red

to come into the IV needle from my arm, nature

far away. Breathing was effort. “You’ve lost weight,”

they said, (these friendly doctors and nurses who were not my friends).

In matters of the heart, it was my friends

who were mature; in matters of death, I who was old.

I could feel the air conditioning seeping through the light weight

of my blankets, and the automatic swelling of the green

blood pressure cuff. All this was the ‘nature

of the disease,’ to be expected, I’d read.

I still flush red

with embarrassment when friends

grasp the nature

of a disease that might not let me get old

with them, rocking in green

willow rocking chairs, the porch floorboards creaking under our weight.

Red blood has flowed many times since I was seventeen years old.

I wish I knew, could tell my friends, how many times I will see the green

of spring, but it’s the nature of life’s beast to have to wait.

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (M.E. PETERS): Chelsea Allaart

Ms. Allaart writes to us from Colorado, and she is the sister to a CF patient

Breathe (Sierra's Gift)

Breathe In

papers rustle fingers type eyes squint

sobs break the mundane night

fifteen year old chokes out

“they found lungs for me”

Breathe Out

heart blips oxygen wheezes anesthesia drips

wait until she is under

to muffle my fears

against an understanding shoulder

Breathe In

phone calls startled friends stunned family

joy/pain wrestle

the pastor arrives

just in case

Breathe Out

flat pillows breaking chairs no floor space

tempered glass throws shadows

on those fighting to sleep

and I who can't succumb

Breathe In

busy laptops search Google find Her

I shouldn't have looked

sacrificed child

Sierra

Breathe Out

half eaten pizza opened soda cans forgotton fries

nauseous with wait

none can eat

until we know the outcome

Breathe In

suffocation lost air found pints of blood

green clothed messenger comes out

little sister holds strong

one more to go

Breathe Out

bouncing feet jittery hands pacing

mother tells me to calm

words that have no effect

I quicken

Breathe In

half asleep half awake caffeine

cell phones continuously ring

with those not present

calling for unknown updates

Breathe Out

hesitation guilt clicking search

against better judgement

I read the Kansas City News

Sierra was fourteen

Breathe In

twitchy cousins sympathetic aunts nervous uncles

hoping for information

half jumping at each new face

waiting not daring to hope

Breathe Out

nine hours two lungs many tears

little trouble

a doctors pride

Sierra's gift accepted

Breathe

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (T. PETERS): Spencer Riddle

Mr. Riddle is a previously unpublished CF patient.

Treatment or Two

Oh crap! What do I do?

I forgot to do a treatment or two.

I'm going to the doctors later today;

I wonder what they're gonna say.

I could always tell them that I'm dying,

But then they'd think my brain is frying.

OH CRAP!!! What do I do!?

I forgot to do a treatment or two.

I didn't wake up until 6:30,

I didn't shower, I'm still dirty!!

There wasn't enough time to do my vest,

The doctors just won't be happy without my best.

Oh crap........what do I do?

I forgot to do a treatment or two.

From now on no more sleeping late!

That just might change my fate.

They’re gonna make such a fuss,

And bite their tongues as not to cuss.

Oh crap what do I do.........?

I forgot to do a treatment or two.....

Well, it’s more like fifteen or eight,

But who's counting, it's too late.....

Notes:

*As a family member of the contest judges, Ms. Simpson was not eligible to win, but is congratulated on her entry!

**Entrants are reminded that judging was “blind” for two of the three judges (T. Peters and K. Rooney), and that judges were not aware of the names or duplicate entries of any one poet

***Entrants are reminded that poems submitted by those under the age of 18 were judged separately from those over the age of 18.

Additionally:

Scoring of the poems was completed without regard to entrants’ payment of the contest entry fee, family or personal history of Cystic Fibrosis or transplant, or their disclosure of this information.

Winners in each age category (Ms. Alston-Follansbee and Michael Riddle) win a small cash prize and a free “Cystic Gal” or guy t-shirt!