Theory of Special Relativity


Maybe distances used to simply be too
distant. Falseness could traverse the globe
for centuries,
be rediscovered on worm-ravaged parchment,
and accepted as historically accurate.

In less than
the width of a single eyelash,
the muted click of a keyboard,
lies now damage
everyone at the same time.

Sneak Peek of this morning’s editing/writing 20 Nov:

After the ceremony, her aunt approached her slowly, a smile on her face and a pair of scissors in her right hand. In her aunt’s left hand was a locket with a miniature painting of Hannah on the front panel. Her aunt stopped next to her and snipped a generous length of hair which she coiled inside the locket before presenting the jewelry to Corporal Davies.

“Thank you,” Will Davies said softly. He dropped the locket around his neck and gazed at Hannah, his eyes shining. His smile make Hannah’s insides quiver. At that instant she admitted to herself that perhaps, perhaps, marrying him was a good idea after all. As her aunt stepped away from Corporal…no, Will, her husband, Will, Hannah took the scissors from her aunt’s hand, stepped up to her husband, and clipped a lock of his hair for herself.

Precipitation

Rain
presses wet leaves against windows,
batters gray-guttered snow into drains,
beads on the eyeglasses of cabbies and mail carriers,
pelts the round shoulders of the old,
and strafes the last, stalwart blossoms
finally to the sidewalk, never asking
for forgiveness or gratitude.
It never asks even

for acceptance.