What lives within the epiphany of a mirror-
Deepening lines of the emotionally crippled,
carefully awakening these thoughts.
Shall the walls land nicely and cover; warmth
longs to remove the stains of the false eternal.

-M. Taggart

Cheers and thanks for hanging out.

Poem – The Other

It’s gone. The other took it.

I turn the TV off.
Move a few toys

This is the only place I have to be me

Thank you God.

My son wakes up every morning
I get to see him laugh when I enter his room.
I pluck him from his crib. I love this.

I bring him downstairs, step over the playpen wall, put him down.
He runs to the couch and bounces onto it.

In this room, with my son and his toys, I am here. Only here.

My son has a slide in the playpen area. Which, is our living room.
His mother got it for him. And maybe for me too.

Have you ever seen a crying angel in cement?
When the other comes we know we have and we weep.


-M. Taggart


Originally written on 6/5/17. This poem is personal.


There’s an unfinished poem in my drafts file.
Apparently I wrote it last night.
I don’t remember writing it,
but while reading it, I remember having read it,
and that I was tired and was unable to finish it.
It reads like a crying child who was never
given the support they needed.
Which, makes sense.
Now, I don’t know if I want
to keep it exactly as it is;
to let it live the way it was born,
or to recreate the lines and ‘finish’ the work.
Maybe I’ll never read it again.
I don’t think that’s true though.
Something about it is already
alive and even if I don’t
publish it, the poem will still be.

-M. Taggart

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