This poem is taken from Stand 222, 17(2) May - June 2019.

Lauren Garland Two Poems
On Peeling an Egg

Now and then a bloody fleck
disturbs the white –  
a blot of failed liver?
Surely the organs grow
in the serious yellow –
the not-quite gizzard,
the almost gut, the heart
unfulfilled. Strange to cup it
whole and nude in my palm,
to feel something like a god.



Rabbits Hanging Round the Stall

We are skinned
       and we hang by our feet,
and the children ask their fathers
       why our eyes bulge out
like someone wrapped
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