Back to Normal
He unfurled for nine months
like paper folded more than eight times over,
springing outwards in his eagerness,
and this morning
parts of him were birthed again.
MRI round three and it’s knockout,
brain scans showing water before it boils,
traitor cells writhing like rising bubbles
while he sleeps, a calm surface
in the chamber.
There have been more unlikely things.
Americans taught bumblebees to find bombs,
taught them their scent meant nectar,
but the swarms inside my son
are set to go, and his doctors
can’t diffuse them.
They rebuilt his brain
with quick spurts of plastic
layer on layer
crinkled as squashed honeycomb,
a model to help me understand
future cuts and slices.
But tonight, we’re back to normal.
Tonight we have warm milk and Doctor Who,
his head on my lap, his brain
on the floor.
He’s lived five years, won’t live
five more, but this testament
will last five hundred.
A member of Coventry Stanza and the DYNAMO Poetry Mentoring Scheme, Jack Cooper has been published by Young Poets Network, Popshot, and Under the Radar, and can often be found on Twitter @JackCooper666.