By MACKENZIE DUNSON
The last thing my mother made for me was an apple spice cake. She always took pride in it because of the expansive apple tree that was the luminary of our backyard. It has always been the most beautiful thing about our house. The branches reaching for the sky, leaves and breath filling my own lungs, its fruit filling my stomach, and its blossoms filling my mind….Continue Reading Spiced Apple Cake
MACKENZIE DUNSON
My mother liked to style her hair based on the white magazines, Vogue, Cosmo, the nice ones that she had to get a special subscription for, 5.00 dollars every month and delivered straight to our front door….Continue Reading the horror inside, beautiful faces
MACKENZIE DUNSON
A row of homes. Perfect homes, like they were pasted from the pages of a catalog. Sprawling white picket fences ran over the hills, connecting the houses in a puzzle, endlessly together…Continue Reading The Perfect Man