The boy sat on the banking looking for trout in the brook. The earth, mixed with growing ferns, smelled of something he didn’t know. He wanted the trout to come from the shaded area so he could watch them. “It’s not possible to live in another mind.” The boy said out loud, not knowing what his father had meant. The boy promised himself to never slam the door and leave. His mother replied to no one, “It’s when you care for someone more than yourself.”
-M. Taggart
Your soul doesn’t need but one visit.
-M. Taggart
I need books to destroy myself and come back again. The boy walked along the brook. Trees were there. Wanting to know about books. His book held his hand and didn’t think at all. Aren’t we nicely composed and nicely alive enough to slice ourselves a thought or more. The boy wished he knew who could be a thought. Could I be a thought? It’s nice walking with brooks.
-M. Taggart
“Content isn’t a thing it’s a place. We try and build this life to disallow the cracking of the not doing what we know we want to do and what would be best to have done. We look back and scratch our memories to clarify where we lost our contentedness and allow our minds to flex into the finding of that place. And the building begins again.” The frog hopped so nicely forward, “Do you understand?” the frog asked. The child ran her fingers along the long grass growing beautifully in the field; watching the sunlight flicker from the tops of each blade, not trading tomorrow for the sunlight of today. “I think I know the place.” She smiled and thanked the frog without thanking the frog at all.
-M. Taggart
copyright 2018
He was small. Especially for his age. His stomach hurt. He thought it was his fault. Whenever he ate, he was in pain. He’d cry and ask to not eat more. The woods were dark. The boy loved the woods at night. If he listened he could hear ants crawling on a leaf. Sometimes, the moon would show the way for him, other times he couldn’t see at all. It didn’t matter. When his stomach hurt he thought strange things and never told anyone. The moon was bright. So bright it lit his brook and he could see his reflection. He wanted to know about death and life but there wasn’t anyone to ask. So he asked a large rock, ‘What do you think about dying?’ The rock took a long, long time to reply. ‘If I were to kill a man I’d do it calmly. I would kill him nicely so he might die well. Men have forgotten to die well and I’d like them to remember.’
copyright 2016 -M. Taggart
We watch the father watching the girl. He didn’t think he was seen. His eyes traveled her body and was certainly seen. The father turned to his wife who turned away. She asked their son if he’d like go for a walk. The beach was busy. The boy said yes and forever I go.
Earlier I recorded a mirror. The sound of a hushed one came. -M. Taggart
We tried to clean the mess. The boy ran to tell the story, but his mother didn’t care to listen. She pretended to listen and he told himself to never forget. If he couldn’t tell his mother he couldn’t tell anyone and it was better to remember to not tell than to tell.
Look how safe we are. The key turns then the lights are on. The belt is placed around us and the child is in the back seat. It’s the most safe place to be. The doctors say not to eat red and also not to drink. The church tells us to love God and to know him best we can. The sinner says we can’t know him unless we take what he has. Then we know too much and God forgot to tell them the rest of the story. The key turns then the lights are on. It’s a safe vehicle. The child watches as the safe vehicle pulls from the drive and then the child closes the door. The child is now alone with the ones who thought of creating the safe vehicle. The sinner is upstairs waiting to show.
I remember you as a toddler. You once pointed your finger and shot. I look at my hands and view age. Here now is most impressive.
mtaggartwriter 