Mackenzie Davis

Joined August 2022

180 stories

Bio

“When you are describing a shape, or sound, or tint, don’t state the matter plainly, but put it in a hint. And learn to look at all things with a sort of mental squint.” Lewis Carroll

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Stories (180)

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The Night of White Umbrellas. Top Story - June 2023.
This street often speaks. On the night of the white umbrellas, many voices made their way to me. But I did not listen, for their shadows swallowed them before I could. Street lamps became my saving grace. And I watched the voices. I never stopped until the dawn came and I could see them no more.
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Fiction
Grapefruit as Fatherly Love. Runner-Up in Father's Footprint Challenge.
They take work. I’m standing behind the counter where my father peels a white grapefruit. He sections them according to their lines and continues to peel until they are no longer enveloped in the transparent casings and white ribbon. This debris he collects into a pile beside the cutting board.
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Men
I am watching you stake out the art thief
Beside the mirror hangs The Penitent Magdalene painted by Jusepe De Ribera. If you knew about art—which you don’t—you’d wonder if that was true. Instead, your eyes are drawn to the corner of a dim sunset that makes up a small portion of the painting. Mary glows in the light of a miraculous sun.
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Art
Sarah's Mother
Content warning: The following story contains a detailed description of a corpse. The worm inside my brain is tidal to a certain moon. No sun to fry it, no day to drown the night’s creature. Was there ever a ‘day’ and ‘night?’ My waking dreams have abandoned me to a purposeless clock, an infinite dark.
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Wind
Don’t look at me as though the sky would splinter—sharp—and slice through your retinas, your irises, your optic nerve If you stopped. I sit in your lap on the edge of the world nothing below us but air, air that blushes a midsummer
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Poets
How to Write Your Name
atop sun-warmed sheepskin, static blurs your goose-down head. - wiggle here on your back testing balance, catch your feet.
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Poets
Sestina of the Court Jester
I face you, king, and hope my knees don’t quiver. Your leg rests skittishly before your throne. Your crown jabs the ceiling, a vicious ornament,
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Poets
To Regain. Honorable Mention in Poetry of the Hunt Challenge.
In the empty space In the soft, still forest Howled the wind lace Howled the breath gust. - In the still, soft forest I hunted for my shadow.
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Poets
Symphony of the Canyon
This canyon's sunset is shimmering hills, the air sprinkled with gold dust into the darkest shadows. The sinking sun is a mother hen, and her gentle warmth wraps itself around me.
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Fiction
Land O' the High Endeavor
She is inching to the ground in a swan dive and all she can think is that it wasn’t suicide—that it isn’t suicide. Then she questions how verb tense changes when a death is in progress.
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Fiction
Chronicling Consciousness From the Bottom of Green Mountain
I sit on a white bench wondering could I see this mountain if the grass didn’t move? without motion, I am blind, (I ask why of movement and receive stillness in reply, perceive that my voice holds no echo)
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Poets
When I Made Stars Cry
Who was this girl who ran waiting in the shadow? I watched her from my window. A street of darkness pooled below, but she shone as she ran(, and she ran for miles, clear as a star.)
By Mackenzie Davis3 years ago in Poets