SERENDIPITY

Odd how information comes
	unexpectedly, from unexpected
		sources.  Just the other
			day, someone wondered how to 
				spell a dead singer's
					name; the next, he 
						saw the name on a 
							postage stamp.  A woman had

this problem:  she made bad
	luck with a broken antique
		clock she set to the
			hour and minute of her
				son's birth, which implied
					—made inevitable—his
						end.  But she was afraid to
							change the hands—then the
								clock would tell the moment of
									his death.  At the

office, she heard talk of an
	"old-fashioned funeral:"  a
		family man dropped dead at age
			fifty-two; a clock on a wire
				stand at his wake made of
					black and white mums showed the
						exact time of his death.  She

knew she must act...a
	secretary said the
		only thing to do was
			remove the hands of her clock—

—Mary Winters

Find out more about
Mary Winters' writings at
The Locus Database

All rights to this poem belong to its author.

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