Red Star Runner 6 | Cancer Poetry

Blake Lynch is a young adult testicular cancer survivor, sharing his cancer experience through poetry. View his IHadCancer profile to see other poems & articles written by him.

I

At thirty-two,
gauze around my stomach,
catheter,
bleeding heels,
bed sores,
neuropathy,
bald,
pain pump,
I laid in the dark on Edith Street,
and waited to die.
Death eluded me,
but I knew he was there. 
He hid
in leaves,
mailboxes,
barking dogs.
I marched through the wilderness of myself, which I saw
as nothing more than an object of loss.

II  

“No one gets through this world unscathed,” my father said, 
when I almost dropped out 
my senior year of high school 
from suicidal depression. 
What he meant is: 
this river is big and muddy, 
and if you live it right,  
you come out smelling like a septic tank with goldfish in your tennis shoes. 

III

She wasn’t even 25,
but winter took hold of her.
My father sat with my uncle in the Cadillac,  outside the funeral home,
when they wheeled her sweet brown eyes inside. 

IV

I once sat up all night,
thinking,
our survival was a testament to failure.
But now I see,
if you’re here tonight,
you’re tougher
than you ever thought you’d be.
You’re running hot,
with your wheels
ready to roll through the storm,
sand and brave,
a woman leaning against you,
before you put it to the floor,
as lonely as
a Red Star Runner 6. 

Read more poetry by Blake in his newest book, Hanging the Angels.