A little something

I’m from mud. Happily I tell this to anyone who asks. There was a deep raving across from our house. At the bottom of the ravine was a brook. In Spring Time the brook rushed with the melting of the snow. Mud was everywhere and I loved it. The sun rose higher each day and I stayed outside with it as long as I could.

This past Friday I drove back home. I saw my old ravine. I saw faces that held strongly to their belief that only they know what they know and the same bitterness hung about their hue. I don’t miss that. Not one bit. But, I do miss the landscape. I pulled over, a short mile away from my old ravine, and took a picture of a Bull. I walked through the wet grass and draped my arms over the fence to eliminate it from the photo. The Bull stood and huffed at me. I was lucky to have such a view at an early age. And, I knew it.

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poem

Our truest sights need not be spliced,
as ashes share no accent; only spreading
shadows over what was, while we keep
our secrets stored in perfectly managed
images resting until needed.

-M. Taggart

Poem-

Last Tuesday I worked 12.5 hours,
came home, and worked on my company
for another two hours.
Megan and Gavin were sound asleep
as I typed away, responding to clients.
The next day I worked another 12.5 hours,
came home, and worked on my company.
Megan and Gavin were sound asleep
as I typed away, responding to clients.
I managed to work 48 hours with my
second job pulling wire, fishing through
insulation and drilling holes in studs with
hole hawg drills with 18 inch bits.
Gavin is now in daycare. I haven’t fully processed
that. I think I’ve pushed that down for another time.
He’s three, and I’ve been his primary caretaker until now.
Gavin is loving ‘school’ and has transitioned incredibly well.
While I drive him to the ‘schoolhouse’ in the morning we
look for werewolves, Bigfoot, witches and ghosts in the woods.
Gavin puts on his serious face and studies the forest as we drive,
and when I drop him off I say, ‘Mommy will pick you up after your nap.
Love you bud.’ He always waves goodbye and says, ‘Bye Daddy.’ He’s only
started to cry a few times. I carry the cry with me as I drive to my second job.
It’s simple really. Priority. My priority is family. The cost of our build is going over
and we need more money. Simple. Work more. I’ve missed working with my hands,
after all, I’m from mud. I enjoy the dirt. I become disgustingly sweaty on the hot and humid days, and that’s perfectly fine. I think of Megan and Gavin and our house. I think
of what our lives will look like in five, ten, fifteen years and beyond. I think of the hundreds of miles of trails in back of our house and the multiple lakes in the region that can be fly-fished and what a blizzard might look like from my second story office window. I think of how my sweat soaked pants will only last a few hours and the dirt will quickly was off and I am thankful. It’s not that I have to work and that I have to get up early, it’s that I have the opportunity to work a second job and with that comes my continuous journey of growth that I hope never runs out even after I’m gone.

-M. Taggart

Corner Office

Grey area is a funny thing and we do funny things within it
while thinking of nothing more than what we do know while
trying to fit the things we do not know into what we do know
and there we have circle thinking in the middle of the night.
We can’t sleep because we’re spinning quickly with our grey
and black and what about if we try it this way while the way
to try it backed down a spinning hole so let’s chase it upon
itself until it can finally never not know about how it was created
in the first place- which of course was when we thought of
something we didn’t fully understand while climbing into a
hard cupboard with piercing nails trying to fit into a smaller space
with aggression, so let’s learn how to best fit into a one-piece word.
-M. Taggart
copyright 2018