I Don’t need this secret.

I was sitting at the bar. Directly to my left was a door leading to the
deck. The wind was picking up. John was rambling on with a friend.
I saw the clouds and thought of my father. I walked outside and took
this photo. I liked the wind and the darkening clouds. These clouds
were exactly overhead. I wondered if there was a piece of my father
in them. His celebration of life is this coming Saturday.
I don’t want to go. I will go. But I don’t want to. I’m struggling with
the guilt of not wanting to go. Just like I’m struggling with the guilt
of telling my father he wasn’t there for me when I needed him most.
I guess that’s how it goes. And maybe that’s why I stood outside alone.
I wanted to show someone the photo of the clouds when I walked back in.
What’s the point though. The clouds meant more to me than them.
They always will.

-M. Taggart

photo taken 6/15/21 in Maine.

Poem – Spread the Word

the more you understand about an abuser
the more you hate them
They tell you not to-
Don’t lean on anger.
Anger is the wall
that broke through!
So fuck the talking heads
that tell how to feel
when they weren’t the ones
peeling their minds off
at the age of five.

Hello,
my name is reason,
logic is my cousin.

-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

Odd Walking Thoughts

Cloudy whispers sank near the window asking for more. We held our mind under steam filled moments screaming. No more doors without locks. No more drawers to be pulled. The brushes and combs were dead while everything else looked on.

 

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

And mud walks on. We smear our hands to feel. Isn’t it nice to know. He tilts the bottle one more time until empty. When I tell an addict they’ll be OK they say, “I know.” We walk toward death with an even pace. I ask, “Does it bother you much?”

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

Laugh on brittle stick. Leaves puddle themselves with veins. We step on both of you without knowing which will snap first. A boy walks alone scrapping his knees on thought. He finds a mushroom with an additional head. ‘Can’t you think twice as much as the others?’ He stomped the mushroom, smearing life from the bottom of his boot to mud. ‘That wasn’t the way to know.’ A frog reported. ‘That wasn’t it at all.’ The boy looked toward the frog, ‘What do you mean?’ ‘A shameful look is what you’ll now wear, that mushroom just had a child. Alone. The mushroom grew another form to represent both sides, even though one had gone, and now you’ve not only removed that mold you’ve removed both. The child is more alone now than before it had been given the gift of life.’
-M. Taggart

Not Their Void – A Poem

My grandfather was orphaned
While in utero
His father committed suicide
Before he was born
His mother gave him,
Along with his siblings
To the state

When he was 18 he joined the Navy
And never looked back
I wish I could have known him
He held me once
When I was six months old
He was 41 when he died
I am told I’m a lot like him

Our neighbor’s husband is moving to Florida
They have a young son and daughter together
And both are now stuck with abandonment’s scar for life
I hope he enjoys his new life
And that he eventually realizes his flesh
Is worthless
It infuriates me to know there are people in this world
So void they rip holes where hearts beat
Hearts held in place by tiny frames
And little feet with little hands
Please little ones, understand you are not their void.

-M. Taggart

The Ants Go Marching, one, by one.

He always said he wanted to try everything once
and as far as I could see he was nearly there
Only thing is this time it got the better of him
He’s just out of jail and homeless again
lied about the sober house, lied about gaining weight.
Unfortunately using again too. That pisses me off
But it doesn’t matter. I can be as mad as I want
along with the rest of the people who care about him
He’ll die this way. And When he’s gone I’ll still love him.
How long will the state level programs continue to push
them away, waiting lists are long, don’t you know.
I’m sure he knew, when he was ushered out the door already
feeling failure exploding trough his veins. How many more
will stop breathing while high in a heroin dealers ‘home’
‘died of complications’ no charges
No fucking charges. I won’t get into that memory.
My home town might be a piss-ant to the powers that be
But it’s my home town and I love it. Loved it so much
I left its destruction behind. Had too. Not everyone can do that.
Some follow the leader and think trying everything once is a good idea
because they never thought it through. And one by one they go, they go.

-M. Taggart

with a sadness near me i write