Craft

My fingers are furrowed by the needle
I held as I stitched the rich caparison,
my eyes are narrowed from squinting
in candle-light, my lips still tight from
working so hard as I guided the thread.

Though I wove his devices, I didn’t
think much of the knight who bore them.
When I raised my gaze from the blazonry
it was to watch my lady, how the braids
gleamed like sunbeams on her bowed head.

I wasn’t surprised to hear that the silk
fell with him into the dirt. I laughed,
knowing our secret spells had succeeded:
while all the court admired our stitch-craft
we knew that we had also woven witchcraft.