Poem-

I had little, we were poor
walked across the road
and down the banking

and fished

I wasn’t good at fishing
my brother was

talked about ferns
and about how to
get stuck in mud
or about how to walk
in the brook

nobody talked about
how to help yourself
when you’re nearly gone

having little was
fine, great even

I didn’t realize
I was about to be gone

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

I worked on a letter today. Worked on its emotion. Like a child wearing pjs during Christmas roaring at themselves in the mirror. Found a funny thing in a thought, about a truck, about a tire, about a mud hole, and about a piece of nothing. Found you there wondering about everything else in a voice unheard unless spoken.

-M. Taggart

 

 

Be careful with the little ones

I was two when my parents divorced.
My first memory is of my father
carrying my mother, slung over his shoulder,
down the hallway to their bedroom.

After he left the house, I walked from
the living room to their bedroom.
“Mommy, are you ok?”

She was crying.

After the divorce there was an emptiness.
I still feel it.
It took years before my father gained the
right to visit with my brother and I.
Once a week.
Sunday,
11-5

Eventually another man was there.
That’s when the real torture began.

-M. Taggart

Adorable Practice. Pre-K students

Gavin practiced riding on his school bus today. He may be the youngest in his class. He’s still three, although turns four soon; it’s an incredible feeling to watch your three year old standing in line with students and teachers waiting to board a school bus.

My pre-k days were half-days. His will be full days. I didn’t jump onto a bus. Times are certainly changing and I admire the attention this district is giving to education and individual safety. Some complain it’s too much. I’ll not be one of them. I find people who often complain are unhappy with their life and most of what comes out of their mouths represents their unhappiness.

Gavin walked up to one little girl and said, “Hi, I’m Gavin Taggart.” He also walked up to his teacher and said, “You’re my teacher.” He had met her once before. Gavin is very social and seemingly fears nothing. Not even the ocean. I had to pull him out of the waves. Ran straight into them. His fascination with life over rules his censorship concerning safety…at least so far. He had only been walking for a few months.

He sat in the front seat with his friend, Jordan, whom he has known for a number of months. Megan and I sat at the end of the bus. Unable to see Gavin. I think moving forward it’s going to be more of the same. We’ll know he’s there, somewhere, and that he’s doing just fine on his own.

Matt

 

 

Cheers everyone!

Cheers!

Gavin is sleeping late. I just checked on him. His cheeks are blushed and his hair is messy. His eyes were closed, but he knew I was in the room. He’s tuckered out because we had company this weekend. He ran around non-stop with his older cousins. It was a treasure watching them. After the campfire in the backyard they tired and sat on the couch together to watch a movie. The older boys were incredible with Gavin. Gavin is 3.5 years old and his cousins, twins, are 9. They treated Gavin as their peer, not a baby, and Gavin thrived within their companionship. This was the kind of weekend that fills the heart with joy. A refueling of humanity to witness family members who truly care for one another and relax into the company while appreciating the echos of laughter.

Cheers,

Matt

Odd Walking Thoughts

It’s all fine. Until it’s not. Although, from a child’s point of view it’s possibly only about sticks and stones and how far will this jump take them over the brook. Landing midway, a smile breaks out from underneath the learned hardness, as if the smile were welcoming themselves home again. This is you. With the water streaming around your small legs, yet to grow into adulthood because this is you; a child wearing a smile standing in a brook after having jumped directly into the middle without a care. And all of the trees waved in the wind.

-M. Taggart

Read more Odd Walking Thoughts here:
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/category/odd-walking-thoughts/

Old Soul

Your name sounds like a gurgling brook. When I was a child I would rinse my feet in the brook that lived across the street from my home. In the Spring the water was cold and sometimes the brook ran high and dangerous from the snow melt from the north. That was when I wanted to be near the brook the most. If the brook had a soul I think I would know it by name. I’m not smart enough to know if a brook has a soul, so for now I’ll just consider it my friend.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts – Little Blue Boots

She wore her yellow rain jacket with her blue rain boots. She didn’t mind the rain, but her mother would yell at her if she got her clothes too wet. The brook’s banking was muddy and she liked it because she was able to leave impressions with her boots and watch as the rain disturbed her footprints. ‘Maybe I should have been a duck.’ Earlier the young girl had observed a mother duck with her ducklings and watched in awe at how the mother duck quacked and nuzzled her young. When the mother duck started toward the water the ducklings followed. She had felt a sensation brighten within her chest that she’d not felt before. Now though, it was just her and her emptiness watching rain destroy where she’d created another version of self within a few muddy prints. ‘I don’t understand why it’s my fault that I’m hit.’ She leaned against an oak tree and forced the feeling to cry back down her throat. ‘I want to like life, but I don’t know how to make her happy.’

The tree embraced the young girl and said, ‘To decipher manipulation is much like killing yourself slowly and ignoring your knowledge of it. Such is the case when we place a narcissist’s needs into a space of importance. Recently it was demanded of you, by you, to acknowledge what you know to be truth. Soon, it will be time to act, and when you do, this unjust weight will be lifted from you. In time you will have your own ducklings and you will feel your chest brighten to the depths of the heavens. There will be no pity. There will be no, “I’m sorry.” There will only be what you’ve created and you will be loved.’

-M. Taggart
copyright 2018