#1 New Release in Poetry Anthology: Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women

Congrats to Gabriela Marie Milton and Ingrid Wilson!

My Poem, One Strong Megan, is published in the anthology. The poem is written about Megan’s ectopic near-death experience. Here’s a snippet!

One Strong Megan

I almost lost Megan.
Last Tuesday Megan stayed home from work.
Just before noon I heard my name called from upstairs.
Followed by the sound of Megan landing on the bathroom floor.
I was downstairs feeding Gavin his lunch.

Megan’s head was in between the toilet and the shower.
She was just opening her eyes.
Her breathing was highly elevated. She was perspiring heavily.
I started asking basic questions. She wasn’t able to focus her eyes.
From my point of view, Megan did not know who I was.

I flat lined emotionally. Everything slowed down.
I had my cell phone in my hand while asking Megan,
“Would you like an ambulance?”
I was calling regardless of her answer. She was pregnant.
We found out the previous Friday night that the pregnancy was ectopic.
Monday morning she had a follow up with her doctor to confirm
what the emergency room told her Friday night.
Her doctor gave her two shots of metho, told her she might feel cramping,
but that she’d be able to go to work on Tuesday.

There I squatted, on Tuesday, brushing the hair from Megan’s face.
“Yes, she’s starting to come to. Yes, she knows who she is.
No, her color seems alright. (I am color blind.)
Honey, they are telling me to tell you that help is on the way.
Ma’am, I need to run downstairs and get my son out of his high chair. He’ll tip it over.
Yes, I’ll be fast and I’ll come back up to be with Megan.”

Thank God Megan is strong.

The doctor was wrong. The worst possible situation was happening.
Megan had suffered a rupture and was bleeding internally.


To read the entire 975 word poem, please purchase the anthology here:

Poem up. Heart wrenched out.

And back again.

The Birth (Renewal)

by M. Taggart, Monthly Contributor
site: https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/

It worked. He reached in back of his kayak,
felt the cool neck of a beer, pulled it from its
cardboard six-pack holder and placed it in his lap.
He liked the way the droplets slowly slid down the
glass bottle. He opened the beer and swallowed.
The current of the Connecticut River was guiding
him directly to the island beach where he would
sit in the warm sand and read his book. The mountain
was barely in view, he could just make out the cliffs.
The summer greenery on each side of the river banks
was full and beautiful. He was the only one on the rive



read the entire poem here