The Violent Space (Or When Your Sister Sleeps Around For Money) Poem by Etheridge Knight

The Violent Space (Or When Your Sister Sleeps Around For Money)

Rating: 3.1


Exchange in greed the ungraceful signs. Thrust
The thick notes between green apple breasts.
Then the shadow of the devil descends,
The violent space cries and angel eyes,
Large and dark, retreat in innocence and in ice.
(Run sister run—the Bugga man comes!)

The violent space cries silently,
Like you cried wide years ago
In another space, speckled by the sun
And the leaves of a green plum tree,
And you were stung
By a red wasp and we flew home.
(Run sister run—the Bugga man comes!)

Well, hell, lil sis, wasps still sting.
You are all of seventeen and as alone now
In your pain as you were with the sting
On your brow.
Well, shit. lil sis, here we are:
You and I and this poem.
And what should I do? should I squat
In the dust and make strange markings on the ground?
Shall I chant a spell to drive the demon away?
(Run sister run—the Bugga man comes!)

In the beginning you were the Virgin Mary,
And you are the Virgin Mary now.
But somewhere between Nazareth and Bethlehem
You lost your name in the nameless void.
'O Mary don't you weep don't you moan'
O Mary shake your butt to the violent juke,
Absord the demon puke and watch the whites eyes pop,
(Run sister run—the Bugga man comes!)

And what do I do. I boil my tears in a twisted spoon
And dance like an angel on the point of a needle.
I sit counting syllables like Midas gold.
I am not bold. I cannot yet take hold of the demon
And lift his weight from you black belly,
So I grab the air and sing my song.
(But the air cannot stand my singing long.)

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Dr Antony Theodore 23 April 2018

And what do I do. I boil my tears in a twisted spoon And dance like an angel on the point of a needle. helpless, i grab the air............ such a great poem. i like this poet.. tony

0 1 Reply
* Sunprincess * 13 January 2017

.....so sad, many feel they must do this to survive ? an unforgettable poem

0 1 Reply
M Asim Nehal 18 July 2016

OUTSTANDING POEM....SPEECHLESS.............100++++ And what do I do. I boil my tears in a twisted spoon And dance like an angel on the point of a needle. I sit counting syllables like Midas gold. I am not bold. I cannot yet take hold of the demon And lift his weight from you black belly, So I grab the air and sing my song. (But the air cannot stand my singing long.)

1 1 Reply
Dutendra Chamling 15 November 2015

......wonderful.....

0 1 Reply
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