By Annelida K SmithVail
Scene: brown liquid has spilled over shirtfront and lap, over pages. A shouted curse gives voice to the damage, outrage on behalf of uncaring words.
Scene: ink has spilled onto sheets of fiber. Spilled from a cartridge, spilled following the motions of a printer belt, spilled precisely into letters.
Scene: a sentence has spilled out from shaking lips. It wasn’t meant to be given voice, was supposed to remain safely withheld. An accident, intentional, following the motions of a heart pumping blood, blood that is not spilled. Blood that cools and dries anyway.