Taylor Stout

Three Poems

“If heaven opened up, the floors of our apartment would fall.”

Poems By Margaret Davenport



i dream of unpacking

put the boxes on the curb!
throw the suitcases in the attic (because home has one)!
and buy plants
luscious and leafy and chartreuse
whose roots bury




down into

our yard!
oh, with its buttercups and roses and violets
painting our toes the exact same color
as the morning sky
i see p e e k i n g through
our window!
and i know

when we’ve crawled out of our permanent
pillow fort
you will make the coffee
while i feed the cats and the flowers and (maybe!) the kids
and we won’t worry about waking
neighbors who are miles away
with our loud singing and jazz swinging
as our dirty sunrise toes
waltz across wood floor


Living with Love and Her Sisters

Sex, Drugs, Rock’n’Roll.
Spray tans, Powdered Mini Donuts, Dirty Bong Water.
Turn on her late 2000s jams.
“Pass me that.”
Posters hanging from one corner,
knocked from 3 a.m.'s “we should be quiet.”
Sharing hairbands, secrets, and spoons.
White cinder blocks begin to sway,
dancing in the shower together.
“He doesn’t deserve you.”
She sighs. Eye contact and a light smile.
If heaven opened up, the floors of our apartment
would fall.


my Mother taught me how to make time


a witchcraft, she told me, i would need to learn how to
wield with the palm of my hand wide open
bare rose skin etched with plum life lines

open to the ability of holding a moment forever
my hands cupping

    warm firelight

        dribbling down my wrist like peach juice

    throaty jazz

        so smooth i can skip it like a stone on top of still water

    spicy cinnamon

        so heavy i clench my fist not to drop it like a brick

i’ve been placing handfuls of memories into jars
on my bedside table for the days when
1. i am too tired to get out of bed
2. i am very lonely in a very full house
3. i cannot remember the last time i felt proud

they glow with the same sunshine that filled
my summer camp cabins
and they remind me how to fill my time.