Chicken Bones

My older brother called him RedSkull
said he’d watch us from the top of the chicken coop
The coop had a feeder shoot
At the top of the feeder shoot was an opening with a hook
My brother said the hook turned red at night and watched us
We’d wait for the sun to go down
sneak from our house
and look for RedSkull
Slowly we’d make our way through the long grass
toward the coop
mostly we didn’t get close
one night thought, one night we went inside
and stepped on dried chicken bones
they snapped under our feet
anything was better than being in our house

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts – Life Is

I shattered my favorite mirror so I could have thousands of lives. Life is. A switchback. A laughing mirror. Happy Birthday mirror. Seconds count even when unseen. Curtains finally pulled back; exhaling fulfillment, expanding best thoughts even under distress, stopping only when I’ve given permission to have stopped. I’ll never be done.

-M. Taggart

A Tilted Heart – Flash Fiction

Fiction
Written by -M. Taggart
3/17/18

A Tilted Heart

 

Out of the drawer fell a folded piece of paper. He paused knowing what it was. Slowly he bent down, opened it, and read words he’d written to himself.

“Today was a nothing day. And that’s how some of them are. 7/13/15.” He felt as though he swallowed a tilted heart; pushing upward in his throat, not content, possibly never his to have.

He put the folded paper into his pocket and closed the drawer. He placed the heavy cast iron skillet into the sink. It had held what he had told himself to think was a perfectly made egg for his morning egg and cheese sandwich. He stood with his hands on the kitchen counter staring at the dirty iron skillet. Frozen in a moment between truth and agony for having finally accepted it.

It’d been over two years since he sat on the river bank reading and drinking beer. The beer had warmed from the summer sun. He happily drank the warm beer and read and wrote a reminder to come back. But he hadn’t. Instead he pushed the words into a drawer and now he had eaten an egg sandwich that was not perfect. He knew it as he ate it, but pushed that truth down toward his tilted heart to falsely warm for a brief time.

Funny though, he thought, funny how when he wrote it it was meant as a compliment to the day itself. Yet now, it flew in motion a range of self punishments he needed to correct. He left the kitchen, dirty cast iron skillet and all, found two books he treasured, and walked out the door. It was a three and a half hour drive. There would be a place to find beer along the way. There wouldn’t be another time to do what needed to be done now.

 

 

 

 

empty paper

I had an emotional connection with a piece
of paper once
It was white and empty
Wanting me to spew my thoughts
I didn’t though
I turned the paper over in my hands
Placed it back onto my desk
I don’t need paper

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts – Twisted Time

He paddled his canoe along the riverbank. Up the banking to his right a corn field stretched for hundreds of yards. To his left woods ranged for miles sloping up into the mountain. He paddled in the middle of it all watching the wind touch the water. He liked to look at the sandy bottom as he glided over. If he used his shadow he could see the river bottom clearly. He could even see individual grains of sand. He wondered if anyone had ever seen the particular grain of sand that he was looking at now. There wouldn’t be enough time in any universe to prove if it had, he thought. “Remember your first thought. Now remember before that. Think of time as a flat surface already containing the past and future without an ending. Now place a mirror above and below. This is nothing but imagination. Remove my voice, I’m already unseen. Now it is yours. Is it real?” Whispered the wind.

-M. Taggart

poem-

His father wore holes
Though he couldn’t see them
He knew them
They bled white and black spots
He watched the spots trickle then flow
all the way to the floor where the
floor would tilt toward himself
but then he’d open his eyes and see
that the blood was red again
He thought anyway that it was red again
He thought much then
Especially about his father and
the holes
But he didn’t need to now
Now he thinks about where
he might find his first hole
and what might come out
Maybe it wouldn’t happen
Maybe he’d not bleed at all

-M. Taggart