Grackle Heart

Photo by Cassie Burke on Unsplash

Grackle Heart

Somewhere between my throat
and sit bones
there are questions
fluttering, beating
like jewelled black wings.

When did my ribs become a cage?
When did I swallow the key?
Where’s the lock? What are the answers?

It’s all on the tip of my tongue
but I can’t find my voice either.

Not today.

Every enchantment
I’ve come to count on –
roosting grackles,
groves of alder,
the light in my own eyes
at sun rise & set,
magentapurpleindigo skies,
that song, all the songs

are all locked up here
in this cave of bone
and all that’s left to do now
is wonder
when I’ll hear the door open,
feel that rusty hinge sing
in my ears,

wonder when
if ever,
I will get to
fly home
at last.

Effy Bird Wild


Today is a little better but I don’t have the bandwidth for ten things. Just one or two.

I. I typed all the words into the void last night and had a nice, long crying jag. Rolled myself into my blankets and went to sleep. Got up this morning and declared it a blanket fort day. Threw a little paint. Spent some time with one of my beloveds on Zoom. We are in pretty much the same place and it was good to be seen and understood and to hear the words “I totally get it.” I know her story so I know she totally gets it.

II. My FB memories are fucking killing me right now.


There are words
we don’t use,
words we left behind.

Like ‘cleft’
which signifies a split
but also means
to part,
to sever,

especially along
a natural line.

Act 3 – Scene 4
Maybe you know it in this context –

“Thou hast cleft my heart in twain.’

It’s not a romantic line,
but, still, it has its place in this
since I have split my heart
in two.


I know it like that,
and I know it like this.

The way wood
cleaves to the axe
the way the heart of fire
must be parted,
half from half,
to be revealed.

I cling, I cleave
to an orphaned language,
and I am living In this line –

I am the wood,
I am the axe,
and my heart
is cleft in twain.

October 14, 2018

III. Tuna subs from Subway are medicine when you’re depressed and can’t eat.

IV. A favourite moment.

V. A favourite painting from two years ago.

Strength VIII {Poem}

Strength VIII

She is all heart rage
as she wraps pale hands
around his muzzle

and I’m all envy,

I know her secret
but I don’t have her power,
to look unflinchingly
beyond the fangs,
to hear beyond the raging roar,
to love beyond reason.

I’m not crowned in forever.
I’m finite.
I’m human.

I envy her, I do,
but my hands bleed
when they are bitten.

©Effy Wild

About The Blog Along

Every year, twice a year, once in April, and again in September, I blog every day for a month, and invite others to do the same. We have a Facebook group, and in that group the only rule is that for every link you post to your own blog, you go off and read three other blogs and leave a comment. This is simply a way to ensure that a community happens rather than just a ‘promo’ group. You’re welcome to join in as long as you are willing to read and comment on three blogs for every blog you post. Click here to join us!  If you’re too busy for that, you’re welcome to just blog on your own for a month. Easy peasy. No one is keeping score. There are no prizes except that you get to build your own readership by regularly populating your blog with good content.

To read all my entries for the Blogalong, please click here to access the Blogalong With Effy Category on my blog.