Poem
Vicki Feaver
BOY WITH A KNIFE
BOY WITH A KNIFE
BOY WITH A KNIFE
He was standing in the middleof the field, throwing a knife
from hand to hand: the boy
Mr Marshall brought down
at weekends – whispered
to be let out from a Borstal.
We heard thumps and squeals
coming from their caravan.
I was told to keep away from him.
But I liked wounded things:
a baby rabbit the cat brought in;
birds with broken wings.
As I got closer, he aimed the knife
into a clump of Lady’s Smock,
spearing a frog.
‘Present,’ he said,
dangling it by the leg.
He looked down at my feet:
at sandals I’d woven from reeds
to look like the Roman sandals
in my history book;
at bare toes like a row
of tiny bald creatures
pleading for their lives.
© 2012, Vicki Feaver
From: Like a Fiend Hid in a Cloud
Publisher: Jonathan Cape, London
From: Like a Fiend Hid in a Cloud
Publisher: Jonathan Cape, London
Vicki Feaver
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1943)
With just three collections in over 30 years, Vicki Feaver has nevertheless made a substantial mark on contemporary British poetry. Described by Matthew Sweeney as “domestic gothic”, her poems often explore the domestic, everyday world through the deeper world of myth, folklore, and terrifying transformation.
She is in the deepest sense a feminist poet, whose work has been concerned with uncov...
She is in the deepest sense a feminist poet, whose work has been concerned with uncov...
Poems
Poems of Vicki Feaver
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BOY WITH A KNIFE
He was standing in the middleof the field, throwing a knife
from hand to hand: the boy
Mr Marshall brought down
at weekends – whispered
to be let out from a Borstal.
We heard thumps and squeals
coming from their caravan.
I was told to keep away from him.
But I liked wounded things:
a baby rabbit the cat brought in;
birds with broken wings.
As I got closer, he aimed the knife
into a clump of Lady’s Smock,
spearing a frog.
‘Present,’ he said,
dangling it by the leg.
He looked down at my feet:
at sandals I’d woven from reeds
to look like the Roman sandals
in my history book;
at bare toes like a row
of tiny bald creatures
pleading for their lives.
From: Like a Fiend Hid in a Cloud
BOY WITH A KNIFE
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