A little while back, someone started up a "what does your CLT handle mean?" posts. I didn't weigh in at the time (although I think I have in previous iterations), but mine comes from a short story by Lydia Davis, aptly titled "A Mown Lawn."

Davis is a favorite writer of mine, a brilliant woman who writes what might be considered short stories, even though most of her work defies easy classification. She is also a translator, which becomes so evident in the ways that she toys with words and sounds.

I've been thinking about her work a lot lately, especially as she has a newly released collection of stories. Rather than share "A Mown Lawn"—you can read it here and listen to it and other stories here—I thought I'd bring to Clashtalk one of her earlier stories, "The Thirteenth Woman."

Hope you enjoy.

The Thirteenth Woman

In a town of twelve women there was a thirteenth. No one admitted she lived there, no mail came for her, no one spoke of her, no one asked after her, no one sold bread to her, no one bought anything from her, no one returned her glance, no one knocked on her door; the rain did not fall on her, the sun never shone on her, the day never dawned on her, the night never fell for her; for her the weeks did not pass, the years did not roll by; her house was unnumbered, her garden untended, her path not trod upon, her bed not slept in, her food not eaten, her clothes not worn; and yet in spite of all this she continued to live in the town without resenting what it did to her.