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Tag Archives: Lark

fragments…Lark, 2

Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. Lark did not try to remember her mother. She did not reminisce. Her past was a phantom. There existed only the scrolling loop of the present — her pale hands, her broad feet in the brown scuffs, the green dress she put on each morning.

The food mounded on the Melmac plate incited no yearning. The setting sun through the wired glass was not a metaphor.

Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. There were sometimes names: her own, Ginger, Elton. These she sang in her perfect alto to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, the syllables fitting neat and senseless into the nursery rhyme melody.

There was also the singing bird, its song raising goose bumps on her arms as it warbled up through the bird’s yellow throat. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. It had not always been like this.
Western Meadowlark photo by Alan D. Wilson, Nature’s Pics Online


Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. Lark’s eyes shifted to watch the gardener haul the green hose across the lawn.
Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. Huge coils slung over his shoulder and a dozen feet of hose trailing on the grass behind him, he leaned into the work as if towing a reluctant mule. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. The lawn was clipped and weedless, sloping gradually away from her, away from the walkway and the benches, down toward the river, where it seemed to disappear. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. A seagull chortled from the roof ridge behind her and then wheeled into sight, banking downstream, laughing. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. The sun warmed the back of her freckled hands where they rested, one on each thigh, her feet and knees tucked tightly together. She canted forward slightly from the waist and seemed to be on the verge of rising, her hands pressing down to lever her free of the bench, free of the gravity that held her motionless. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten…