A parenting paradise

It took two and a half years
for me to want to level another parent.
It happened in the suction ball room
at the Children’s Museum in Portland.
Gavin didn’t wait in line.
Instead, he stood directly next to a girl his age
and attempted to share the space.
I immediately intervened.
I told Gavin he needed to wait for his turn
and asked him to apologize to the girl.
Gavin is two and a half. He handled it well.
I stood, turned, and walked away.
The girl’s father walked toward the already handled situation.
I smiled and said hello.
He stared at me and ignored my hello.
But what really pissed me off
was that he attempted to stare me down.
At a Children’s Museum.
I changed my face.
I know this won’t be the last time.


-M. Taggart


And we watch-

Their bodies lie on the cold fields blanketed with snow.
Not frozen. Not dead. Waiting to see what’s to come
from in between the driving flakes- to see what it is
that might find them.

Ordered to be aware as the storm strengthened and became dark.
They dotted the field from the birds eye in formation as though
they were nothing more than small gray flecks. However, the pattern
in which these flecks revealed were not nature born.

And we watch. From our living room chair staring at our walls while the walls
never watch back. Only take. Monitor. Manipulate. Sculpt, speaking to be everything, and we watch. From out kitchen tables while staring at our palms while our hands have become not our own.

All while bodies lay in the cold ground during a new winters storm waiting to be found.


-M. Taggart
copyright 2018
Not done with this. Ran out of my few minutes to write.

Cheers everyone.

Smile Child – Odd Walking Thoughts

Keep a straight face child. They all judge the same way. Keep it flat. Let them ask. Sure. Sure isn’t an answer. Sure anyway. Straight, always straight. When the floor does the asking there isn’t much point in emotion- The sun came again today. When it reaches your slumbering self and effortlessly pulls sleep from your body you can smile all you’d like.

-M. Taggart
Copyright 2018


I don’t want to think about that right now-
I want to listen to my open window
I want to listen to the street
I want to hear the wind blowing the tops of the trees
I want to smell the air
I can hear the pushing wind driving into the leaves that are left over
from the winter drop
I wonder why they hung on

-M. Taggart
copyright 2018

Thought Drop

Writing is a lot like listening to yourself. But sometimes I write a sentence, remove my mind, and proceed to reconnoiter what it is I’ve just done. I made a tragic mistake of it all. But of course it’s not the mistake that made me. I made the mistake. Fix the mistake.

-M. Taggart

a poem-

Marvel at the moon. It doesn’t matter how.
Sit on any porch. The moon, it always watches back.
Take a sip of moonlight, touch it to your lips.
Let your knees find soiled ground and raise your eyes-
I admire the moon for having lack of contact.
I admire the moon for being consistent.
I admire the moon because it admires
each of us who are looking back.
Every dusky evening, until it hides, but not on purpose.
It’s too aware to be gone without warning.
We all need to understand being gone before being back again.
Marvel at the moon. It doesn’t matter how.
It lent its shadow, all the way to me-
and while it removed my disbelief I saw the moon dance.
I marvel at the moon because it found its way.

-M. Taggart
copyright 2018
Thank you for reading