Threads She Shares
written by: Michael Ball
@whirred
Her threads do not baste
nor do they lockstitch
her seams together.
Half its length silver,
the other still black.
One long thread on my
pillowcase is proof
that she still nestles
head by head at night.
Affection’s relic.
On overly white
ovals, rims and tanks,
her threads are like spoor,
animal traces
of love, not danger.
While fastidious
about neat and clean,
she seldom observes
her head threads dislodged
by reflexive strokes
of pulling fingers.
He who does notice
mutely clears her threads
while faintly smiling.
He pays those small dues.
Michael Ball scrambled from daily and weekly papers through business and technical pubs. Satisfaction and feeling like a writer came through blogging and podcasting, mostly political. Born in OK and raised in rural WV, he became more citified in Manhattan and Boston. He joined the Hyde Park Poets Workshop two years ago, and will never again write a manual or help system. He has moderate success placing poems in print and online.
Latest posts by Michael Ball (see all)
- Penn Station Lust - April 25, 2025
- Desert Sisters - January 19, 2025
- Betrayal - September 10, 2024
