Cardinal
we are crouching over
a rabbit
trying to discern
the cause of death
tangle of innards
brocade of purple
spleen hot breath
of flesh cramped
centipede of the
small intestine
the dashed cardinal
of its open throat
indigo-soaked and
steaming runic
my tongue lying heavy
in my mouth
squeezing muscles
in sequence
the sound of grass and violet
tearing from the tap-root
Blood Count
the cold of the instrument
as it pushes under
slipping into dermis
like an ice-cream headache
the vials of blood clink
for possible deficiencies
you have small veins, she says
the needle wriggling in the crease
the eggshell blue of bone visible
beneath a foamy layer of cuticle
rose petal imprint of her thumb
where she tried to stop the bleeding
Jane Hartshorn
Jane Hartshorn is a poet and PhD candidate at University of Kent, writing about the lived experience of chronic illness. Her pamphlets include In the Sick Hour (Takeaway Press, 2020) and Tract (Litmus Publishing, 2017). She has had poems published by Boudicca Press, Dostoyevsky Wannabe, Lucy Writers and SPAMand is an editor at Ache Press. janehartshorn.weebly.com @jeahartshorn
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