Meditations on the Book of Matthew

Poetry by Emma Biggerstaff

I have dreamt and forgotten,
dismissed the unkempt corners of an otherworldly room.

I have taken what the elders say into consideration, 
shaken myself free of intuition. 

I have lingered in the company of some familiarity, 
worn my mother’s ring or clung to nickels.

I have proudly sung of my contentedness
with contentiously long bones flung forward into disillusion.

I have thrown myself out, tasteless
and uprooted what was good and flavorful in favor of a menu.

I have recently refilled the oil in my lamp but kept it covered
to avoid indecency and accusations by the joyless as they empty bowls. 

To My Thieves

Poetry by Emma Biggerstaff

Puppets, universal
you are teachers
motive matters but does not decide
what the pupil learns and
some matriculate while
I myself pass notes mistaking
all for good 

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