Weft of yellow, warp of red,
I say as you finger the silk
pillow. It glows its orange
gold, and changes as you angle
one way, weft of yellow,
and another, warp of red.
I know that fabrics differ,
some threads a jacquard weave,
others twisted in knit. I
had cut the pocket from your shirt
that ripped on the baseball field.
A spectrum of threads made its plaid.
A pattern formed by weft and warp
complements the lines. My head
upon the shimmering square, I curl
against your lap and trace the stripe
along your chest, the color bright
which once was pocket-hidden. You
speak of the diamond where you know
ball and strike, hit and run.
You can throw a curve; or the ball
drops at the plate
when the signal demands.
Stroke my hair and I will catch-
weft of innings, warp of outs-
each lesson you pitch.
(c)Margaret J. Tinsley