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A poem for the Lark Tavern in Albany, NY, which was destroyed by fire in May 2010 and which will return.
Lark Definitions
it’s a bird noted for its singing
it’s a verb meaning to play
it can denote a certain lack of care
but that is itself a trick
a surface appearance that masks
desperate attention to detail
for we do care, each of us
we’ve stood naked under lights
that show blood red on film
we’ve bared all, opened our bone cages
to let fly the nightingales
(also noted for their singing)
we’ve confessed lovers, told
strangers truths no one else knows
all under the watchful eyes
of attentive servers who
notice yet don’t let on
a man in a bookstore asked me
how it feels to be the last
featured poet at the Lark
“I won’t be the last,” I said
Very nice, Jason!! Nice mix of the sweet and savory…
dude: i love how it builds up to the conversation and that great last line.
and this: we should put together a lulu book of lark poems for sale to benefit tess. i’ve heard 6 or 7 of them at least.
Thanks, Cheryl and Carolee. And Carolee — I was thinking the same thing.
Oh, and one more thing:
“dude”?
Wonderful words, Jason! My favorite lines are about the confessions, telling strangers-how well done!
Thanks, Tedi!