Z Self

Sometimes it’s easier when we don’t speak. A, swing-shift on mental aptitude, testing while watching from under, foot. It’s fun here, when we see. She’s so happy, brushing her teeth, yellow on yellow.

-M. Taggart

Poem

The trees are a bit different today.
Only slightly, but it’s there.
One less shred of bark.
A whisper of height more.
In the corner of our mind
we store the newness of change.
But what for? Are we waiting
for our reflection to speak.
And who’s newness is this.

-M. Taggart

Poem

I was meant to write,
I believe;
not to do the other.
I didn’t pick
that path. It’s been
placed in front of
me, an unquestioned
dream-come-true.
So, I’ll walk it
with unmoving faith.
Because that’s me.
That’s always been me.

-M. Taggart

Poem

I guess I’m lucky like that.
I can find happiness in the
dropping of a pine cone.

In the city. In the woods.
From the edge of my office chair.
In a crowded pub with a corner window.
A book in hand, and there I am,
lucky enough to raise my eyes.

-M. Taggart