Odd Walking Thoughts

A young boy sat on a stump. He closed his eyes counting numbers. Having found seven of them he opened his eyes and was home. His mother was crying. His father was not. He closed his eyes again and found a stone to skip. “Can I have the stone again?” The stone was taken by the water.

-M. Taggart

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poem

When I listen to Control’s
passive aggressive denials
I see insecurities dripping
from tongues, hands, and
eyes. -A balanced flower
leans toward the light.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

The nakedness of a child escorts thoughts. I remember his first hours of life, choking, his mother shivering violently. I held his tiny body upright. Walk with me, it’s like a thought, it can be a nothing and grow into an unviolated membrane we observe until it, itself, observes back. A metamorphosis, if you will.

-M. Taggart

Poem-

An old tree has more life in a twisted
dying branch than a perfectly placed
white picket fence, with buried judgement-
aligned with its perched front porch-
full of toes that step harshly on the planks giving
splinters which were born by the seed of the
twisted branch; you have a lot to learn old man.

-M. Taggart
copyright 2018

poem

Sadness is blank
It pulls relentlessly until
there’s nothing left to feel
And we’re there
Haunted

-M. Taggart

One year ago was a very unfriendly time for my family. I thought I might be fine. I am not.