A treat, a bath, and a sleeping child.

How can anyone abuse a child?
I picked Gavin up from daycare.
He told me he was a good boy today
and that means he gets a treat,
and a bath. We always give him
a bath, but he lingers on the thought
about how being good means getting a bath.
Gavin was sound asleep when I pulled
our truck into the garage. I managed
to carry him into the house and lay
him on the couch without waking him.
Gavin being asleep means he didn’t take
a nap. When I took his rain boots off,
sand spilled all over the couch cushions.
I smiled and pet his head. “Gavin, it’s time
to eat dinner and take a bath.” I said sweetly.
It’s easy for me to be sweet to him. I love him.
He didn’t wake. I told myself not to write about
this, but my body walked up the stairs and sat
on my chair to write about it. Now though, I
need to stop the writing and wake Gavin.
He really does need a bath 🙂

-M. Taggart

Yes. That’s Gavin. He loves Dinos.

Poem-

“The rain doesn’t
want to touch me,
but it does.”

My son, Gavin Aaron Taggart, just said that to me while sticking his hand out our sliding glass door. He’s 3.5 years old. God we love him.

 

 

 

 

Odd Walking Thoughts

A child screams but no one does a thing besides scream back to grow up. Patience is a virtue unless you’re an adult who wishes it upon a child to be just, like, them,. eventually the child becomes a young person remembering having screamed with hurt. But this child won’t be the same. This child will be the one adult to not ignore the screaming. And the hills walk on without looking down, so they say.

-M. Taggart

About:
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/m-taggart/

 

small brilliant smiles

‘A bumblebee.
I’m seeing it with my eyes’
That’s what my not yet
three-year-old just told me.
No need to overthink
what ought to be written
when life delivers every day
All I need to do is listen-

-M. Taggart

Sent from my iPhone

A Child Hopes

A Child Hopes

Fiction
Written by -M. Taggart

 

A child too young to crawl had no parents. A man placed the child in a crib and walked away while listening to its suffering cries. The infant had no understanding of the fading footsteps, but fully felt the abandonment.

Near the crib, carved into the cold stone wall, was the saying, ‘These stones wash my mind.’ A smiling face was left as a signature.

A nine-year-old had created the message.

Etched into the wood floor beneath the infant’s crib was another, ‘My thoughts are new this morning having never been thought before.’  Another smiling face was left as a signature.

**

‘What are you doing?’ Nick’s grandfather asked.

‘Reading.’ Nick replied. He held onto a nail. He was helping his grandfather in the garage.

‘Oddly, I never read much. But, when I did, it changed me.’

Nick’s grandfather was a large man. He wore grey work pants and a white t-shirt with suspenders.

‘Grandpa, what does this means? “These stones wash my mind.” That’s what it says in the book.’

Nick’s grandfather stopped fidgeting with the bird feeder he was building. Looking at the rafters, then his boots, he shook his head, ‘You might want to find another book.’ He reached a window with his eyes, and noticed how the sunlight spilled around the clouds.

Nick didn’t want to find another book. This book was too important. And he didn’t miss his grandfather’s face when he’d asked. He saw. He saw fully. Nick looked at the nail in his hand. It was metal. It smelled like metal. It looked like metal. It tasted like metal. But these words didn’t taste, or look like anything, but words. Though, he felt them.

‘Why didn’t you read much? That doesn’t make sense. If it changed you, was it for the better, or worse.’ Nick asked.

‘They were fluff. So much fluff. And the eyes reading them never cared. They read because they read. But, a few, changed me because they were meant to be written. And when I read them they made me to see.’

‘To see what?’

‘That’s not really the question. ‘These stones wash my mind.’ That’s the question. Be careful to not lose focus. If you want an answer to a question, truly want it, never stop until that one question is fully answered. Then, move to the next.’

Nick felt shamed. His cheeks filled red with emotion. He stood to walk from the garage and let the nail drop to the cement floor. It wasn’t that he couldn’t focus.

‘If you had answered my question the first time I asked it, I wouldn’t have had to rework new questions to again come to the first. And if it’s too hard for you to talk about, why’d you write the book?’

Nick walked out of the garage. Sunlight lit his young shoulders.

 

***

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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

Love is, actually

It’s the middle of the night
A small something is breathing
Onto my neck
It’s Gavin
He’s on my pillow
And his forehead is lightly
pressed against my neck
Megan must have brought
Him in with us
He’s transitioning
into a bed and
Loves to get up and play
In his room
He’s such a good
Little man
He climbs into the
Rocking chair and rocks
Himself back to sleep
But for now
He’s breathing on my neck
And I’m awake writing this

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

when a child doesn’t move and it isn’t their choice. they remove hurt with a pillow missing. cross their heart with thought. don’t tell that child what is. scraping winds picking up their tears. we’ll live again. sink now. the missing pillow gave way. it was never their fault.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts – The Return of the Frog

“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