Two days from now will mark the first anniversary of my father’s death.

He battled cancer. We were told it was treatable. We were told he would live a long life.

It was too late when they discovered that he had a very rare version of this very treatable cancer.

It’s possible I may write and publish a few blog posts, over the next few days, that may be difficult to read for some.

I hope you understand.


My father lost custody and the right to see my brother and I when we were young. Later in life
my father and I became very close.


I’m lucky, thankful, and blessed to be his father.

The previous post contained the subject line of, “Anyone?”

The image was of Gavin about to turn a corner on an amusement
‘ride’ for kids. Gavin loved it. In general, it was an obstacle course.

We pulled Gavin from school this week and brought him to our
State’s largest fair. He pet all types of animals, even a MASSIVE horse
that seemed to have taken a liking to Gavin.

I’m rather sure his one day at the fair gave him enough mental stimulation
to overcome the one lost day at school ;).

Cheers everyone!


ps, thanks for hanging out!

Academy of Trust

I noticed that my toothbrush wasn’t where I had left it.
In fact, for two days in a row, my toothbrush had been moved.
Then I realized that this has been happening for some time now.

I stopped scrubbing my teeth and looked in the mirror to acknowledge
my reality. My five year old son has been using my toothbrush.

Now- I love my son dearly, but I don’t want I to share a toothbrush.

I rinsed my mouth and put my toothbrush where Gavin had left it.
I slowly opened the drawer and spotted a brand new
Captain America toothbrush. Blue. His favorite color.

I’m not going to lecture Gavin. I’m going to roll with this.
Transition and compromise are two skills I’m continually learning.
It’s a little small, but that’s OK, I like Captain America.

-M. Taggart

Thank you, WP Family.

My Dad would have been 66 today. It’s been a tough few days leading up to this. The emotions snuck up on me. I didn’t expect it to be like this. At night I’ve been sitting on our back deck looking at the stars waiting for him to show himself. Sometimes I play his music. I don’t always handle that too well.

I took Gavin fishing this past weekend. He met an adorable little girl who was bird watching with her mother. Within minutes they were talking and it didn’t take long before Gavin announced to them that his Grandfather died. My father was amazing with Gavin. Which, for me, was healing to see. When I was Gavin’s age my father wasn’t part of our family unit.

Things change.

Thanks everyone, for the digital support and friendship. I consider of number of you friends. Even if only through these online channels, you are great people. I’m thankful for that and I’m thankful for WP. One of the bright spots for me (concerning the writing world) was Tara and her accepting a short story of mine into a wonderful horror anthology that she edited and published. Tara, I appreciate you. I still can’t find the motivation to submit any work and you were able to get that unstuck. I know I can ‘get there’ again, but I guess not yet.

So, I think I’ll take myself fishing today and see if I can find Dad.


You’re nothing but a drunk

My father took a photo.
Feeding Gavin.

I love this photo.
I chose Gavin over my career.
I was made fun of.
By family. Friends.

Doesn’t much matter.
They are cowards.

Maybe Gavin remembers some.
This worthless drunk took care
of Gavin from the age of 0-3.

Twelve hours a day, alone.
And I kicked ass.

Scrubbing milk bottles,
changing diapers,
stepping in cat shit
knowing I had minutes
to brew coffee
before the baby was awake

We got this

Don’t let them stomp your life away.

Careers come and go.

We are told opportunity knocks once.

That’s a bunch of Bullshit.

This drunk doesn’t walk in a box
full of benchmarks.


-M. Taggart

Thank you, Dad.

Our Self Embrace

You and I too, dream so well during the day
We can leave our eyes open-

It is noon. Inside a modest home stands a man. He is alone.
The man stands, or paces, or runs from his house.
It is said the man tried to explain to someone his thoughts

-There is a door directly in front us, the one with the rusted hinges-
The door knob is no longer in place, but hanging, not breathing.
Our dreams push forward and we follow them-
We stand in place. We do not see the door. The future has moved the door.
The walls have been crumbling for years. The tape under the paint on the sheet-
rock are no longer under paint at all. Instead the tape conquered the paint and took
position to watch the man stand and pace and run.

You and I too, dream so well-
I have been there. You wouldn’t understand.
The man inside the house spoke out loud.
Or possibly he had said that to someone.

The man turned from the broken door. He faced the crumbling wall, ‘Ready old friend?
I have lived, I have died, I have spoken to God and Jesus. Jesus was beautiful.
You wouldn’t understand.
Listen, this world is not our own. I have eaten from The Grapes of Wrath of which
Steinbeck wrote.
The heads will say I was not there. I was. I am now again.
And when alone, standing with society at my shoulders, I spit the seeds out-
Watch the cement grow new growth. Watch as the green grass feeds my truth-
A mouth twists full of anger- We’ve seen this mouth too many times-
Now, I stand near this wall and I watch time. Time which does not exist.
Though I do not show you, I have been everything. Death speaks to me through you-

As you stand now, before me-
And you aren’t the only ghost
Did you know I can..’

The walls became excited. Knowing the man would now pace.
And he did. He paced for hours. Sweat ran from his middle-back down.
The walls of the house were filled with holes. Not from the man.
Stains and foul smells filled the hallway. The rug, wasted, soiled.
A door at the end of the hallway hadn’t been opened in years.
Even the walls didn’t know what was in the room. Without the door opening-
The man paused, felt his hair turning fully gray and thinning, noted how fine it was
and continued-
‘Ah! I have ripped my soul from my beating chest, from the depths of my existence-
Studying my torture in my hands-
We truly know one another.’

The man ran from his house. The crumbling walls, tape, and even the paint, all saw.
They applauded his departure – not due to departures sake,
He’d now spit seeds

It was said the man ran from his house.

You think I stand looking at walls-
You and I too, dream so well during the day

-M. Taggart


Originally published on SpillWords Press NYC September 22, 2018.

Dedicated to my father. I stepped inside my father’s house for the first time in over 15 years yesterday. My father passed away on October 14, 2020.