Spillage

What to do with twelve red napkins that tumble through your letterbox? Twelve red napkins, covered in Somebody's slowly drunkening hand in a first class seat to the other side of the world. Folded - yes, impressively - then sealed in two envelopes and urgently posted at touchdown. Twelve red napkins of words to be read and re-read, red and staining the edge of sight as they fall across white sheets. And it strikes me now that they have lost their purpose. Now that they have been written all over, they can't wipe anything away.