The Literary Review
The Magic Cooler
On our porch
sits an old green metal cooler,
placed there by a friend.
It holds treasures.
After a long day
wrangling with insurance,
open the cooler
and presto—
chicken pot pie!
Coming home
from a surprise blood transfusion,
open the cooler—
vegetable soup for dinner!
White blood cell counts at zero,
praying to avoid infection,
open the cooler—
mac and cheese from scratch,
Eli’s favorite!
Homemade delights
from unseen hands,
filling us with warmth and love,
day after delicious day—
magic!
- Tawn Parent
Crimson Gold
Who knew cancer patients
went through so much blood?
In some countries
family members
must walk the streets
begging for donors.
But I can rest easy,
knowing that each time
my son’s blood pressure sinks,
or his labs come back low,
bags of that essential fluid
will keep showing up
from somewhere.
I long ago lost count
of how much Eli has needed.
I think of all those
unknown, benevolent souls
who have saved Eli’s life
again and again.
If only I could
reach out my hand
to thank each one
for their selfless,
impossibly precious
gift.
- Tawn Parent
Trial by Fire
Amid the awfulness of cancer
arises the awesome strength
of this child who became an adult
too soon.
The source of that strength
remains a mystery.
But now that my son has looked
death in the face,
what on earth
could possibly
scare him?
- Tawn Parent
Age of Reason
What is the best age
for a child to have cancer?
Should I be grateful
that my boy was stricken
when he was old enough
to understand?
On the cancer ward,
I watch the other children,
the sobbing babies,
in their uncomprehending agony;
the giggling toddlers
in the bright red wagons;
the preschoolers
who drive around in plastic cars,
as their parents follow,
pulling their IV poles;
the 7-year-olds struggling
with their schoolwork.
For them, the distress vanishes
with the pain.
There is no dread of the next time,
and the next time,
and the prospect
of no next time.
Then come the teens, like mine,
who do their best to look cool
(in spite of their baldness and frailty)
and ignore each other
as they pace the halls,
ravaged
both by chemo
and the knowledge
of exactly
what they’re up against.
Around come the volunteer
who performs magic tricks
and the chirpy homework helper,
who offer my child
no solace at all.
- Tawn Parent
Moment of Truth
The day has come.
After one major surgery,
seven cycles of chemo,
31 radiation treatments,
and 49 days in the hospital,
the moment of truth.
Has that terrible price
been enough?
Clean scans!
Listen to the nurses cheer.
Grinning, they shout,
here is the bell,
come ring it!
Here is the giant cookie
of congratulations.
Here, here, here
is the gift
of the rest
of your life.
- Tawn Parent
Ready to Fly
A year ago you were in the ICU.
Now you’re visiting colleges.
Colorado or New York?
You crave an adventure
far from the home
where you spent
too much unplanned time.
My heart swells with pride
that you have the courage
to voyage out and start anew.
Yet my heart also contracts
with fear.
At 15,
you suddenly became
like a toddler again,
as for months
I monitored every aspect
of your being:
weight, temperature,
blood pressure, calories,
fluids in, fluids out.
Always just
an arm’s reach away.
Once cancer treatment ended,
you snapped right back
to your adolescent self,
racing to rejoin your friends,
as I stood by
suddenly empty-handed.
Now your limitless future beckons,
a prospect that once seemed
impossible.
Fly, Eli, fly!
If only I can bear
to let go
of your wings.
- Tawn Parent