D. A. Cooper
Granny Nyx Sews Before the Rising Light
She sits, with spool and thread, at her old treadle,
feeding black fiber through its gleaming teeth.
Her feeble foot moves quickly on the pedal;
the cloth she sews meanders underneath
the table like a snake. Drab fabric fills
the empty space, gives substance to the void,
moves matter through the nothingness. Small hills
of shadow dart like rats, quick to avoid
the glow that sneaks in through the window shutters
each time the wind blows them ajar. Some say
in the beginning all was dark. She utters
her little spells to keep the light at bay,
to stop usurping heavens from bewitching,
undoing the snug darkness of her stitching.
D. A. Cooper is a poet and writer from Houston, TX. He recently completed his MFA in poetry at the University of St. Thomas, Houston. His work has also appeared in
Ad Fontes, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought, Light, Lighten Up Online, The Society for Classical Poets, and
Witcraft, among others. He enjoys translating dialect poetry from Italy, watching
The Office, and looking at trees.