52 Crows - Week 13

An interesting piece of writing this week, not a story but instead a prose poem and really difficult to illustration. 


By Victoria Richards


There’s a bird inside my chest. I can feel it there, scrabbling around with its dirty talons, squashed between my ribs. It was quiet, for a while, lulled into slumber by my soft hipped mother-swing, like she was, like he was. Tiny, pink, wobbling like jelly. But now it’s awake and it wants to get out. It is rough, cawing thick, black feathers, muscle-wing-span-bone. It aches to fight and fuck and tear and stretch, to peck at discarded sweet wrappers, an old Big Mac, curled brown at the edges; at chewing gum and shit and London’s wet street sorrow. It claws at my heart, which thuds irregularly

thump THUMP thump-thump, thump THUMP

It is magnificent — and it is driven mad with wanting. It stretches its wings, soars up, up and out of my mouth in one coruscating blood-guts rush of resentment. Yes, yes! It is a war cry. It flies.


More can be follow on Victoria website www.victoriarichards.co.uk

or follow her Twitter account @nakedvix

Please reload

Featured Posts

52 Crows - Update

July 12, 2019

Please reload

Recent Posts

July 12, 2019

December 22, 2018

December 21, 2018

December 14, 2018

October 29, 2018

October 1, 2018

September 27, 2018

Please reload

Search By Tags
Please reload

© 2015 Bonnie Helen Hawkins. All rights reserved. No part of this website can be reproduced without the written permission of the artist.

Each picture on this website is meant to be an accurate depiction of the actual artwork, however colour variations may occur. This may be due to the calibration of individual monitors or computer screens and is in no way the responsibility of Bonnie Helen Hawkins.