Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Month: February 2014

Story: Christmas Is Dead

By: Reese Scott It took time to get out of bed now. His legs hurt. His feet were swollen. His face was cracking. Age isn’t kind. Mr. Foldoff had thought he would never get old. Now he hides from his…

Story: 110 Roots

By: Maya Unnikrishn​an The phone rang around 10.00 pm. Mother answered. Hello, Tharayil veed aaono? (Is it Tharayil house?) Adhe. (Yes) Naale varunu sthalam pootan . (I am coming tomorrow to dig the land) Adhu shari she replied yepol varum ?…

Story: Voss and Alienation

By: Konika Mukherjee “In every country of the world, there are climbers, “the ones who forget who they are” and in contrast to them “the ones who remember where they came from” Franz Fanon (On Colour and Prejudice, Black Skin,…

Poem: Passing

By: Ken Eberhart Somewhere, there’s a number sitting in a bank. Whether or not the money is actually there, I don’t know. It is just a couple of hundred bucks of Monopoly money that may or may not have been placed…

Poem: Oregon October

By: Ken Eberhart There is a concrete arch bridge on the 101. Beneath that arch, salmon boats venture out to sea, and ride twenty foot swells for five hours. Tourists pay ninety-five dollars apiece to sail the same ocean that Nicholson…