Lark

Corey Marks

A stone lodged in the boy's throat.Why had he even taken it in his mouth?Hard to remember now—somethingabout its smell, like rain. Somethingabout the open field, a distant song,a sense of the day's never-endingness.On a lark, his mother would say.He'd moved the stone inside his cheek,along his teeth, pressed it againstthe roof of his mouth like candy,though it tasted of dirt and ozone.It was hard to imagine being on a lark—such a small thing. The size of his fist,though finer boned. In the story his motherread when she used to read to him,birds were caught in branches paintedwith glue. The birds would settleand then exhaust themselves batteringagainst the air that wouldn't opento them anymore. He imaginedplastic bags snapping in wind.And now he felt like a tree filledwith larks, his whole body branchedwith panic, lashing and lashing.Meadowlarks lived in the field, he'dseen them skitter in low arcs away.Not true larks at all, thoughit was hard to think of them as a kindof blackbird with their yellow chestsand brown-stippled backs.Still, that's what his book saidwhen it mattered to him once.Who named these things? Howdid they mistake so much?He didn't like his own name—something an old man would be called.His parents were old. The dayfelt old. His mouth tastedlike the ringing inside a bell.And how little he filled his namethe only one he'd ever own—it strained away from him. Beyond,names drifted the field, billowing,unattached, catching briefly on shocksof broken grass, a raised lip of stone.

Feature Date

Series

Selected By

Share This Poem

Print This Poem

Headshot of Corey Marks
Photo:
Lisa Vining

Corey Marks is the author of The Rock That Is Not a Rabbit, published in the Pitt Poetry Series, as well as The Radio Tree, winner of the Green Rose Prize, and Renunciation, a National Poetry Series selection. A University Distinguished Teaching Professor at University of North Texas, he directs creative writing for the Department of English.

Cover of the book The Rock That is Not a Rabbit

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

University of Pittsburgh

"He has the perception, and indeed the craftsmanship, to construct a scene, to highlight a moment, with just enough detail—a delicately wrought image here, a telling phrase there—to draw you in, to put you in the picture."
Colorado Review

Poetry Daily Depends on You

With your support, we make reading the best contemporary poetry a treasured daily experience. Consider a contribution today.