Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Fiction

By Sandra Ding During most daily commutes, one only sees strangers and doesn’t look closely. On an early evening in October, while the city dwelled in a soft, yellow haze, amid the bustle of the streets filled with the shuttling…

Fiction

By: E.R. LeVar An old bonnet of hers still rests on a hook on the wall, long blue ribbons trailing down to the floor. A well-worn shawl drapes over the back of the chair, holes in the knitting letting the…

Fiction

By Kristen Henderson      Carlos discovered an open box of D-con rat poison under a pile of shoes in the back of his grandmother’s closet.  He’d been called home from ‘Nam after his grandmother was found dead, rigid, straight as…

Poetry

By: Alan Berger What stories to chooseWhich ones to tellThey choose youAnd tell you what to sellI’d rather be a year too earlyThen a second too lateRather not be out with someoneThat I just can’t takeRather stay home and masturbateAnd…

Fiction

By: Francine Witte “So, let’s review,” says Man 1 “Right,” says Man 2, “we kill her at noon.” They lean over the high lip of the bridge rail. Straight down to the blue of the stream. “Not kill,” says Man…

Fiction

By: Francine Witte There is suddenly no weather. Rain dries up before it falls and wind is all puffed out. “It’s a show of respect,” the anchor man says, and his lovely co-host agrees. The sun is gone, too, leaving…

Poetry

By: Robin Long cling to the submitted words, disfigured,like the leather face of plaguewith spices shoved into a protruding beak herbs, to protect and stave off stenchpestilencenoxiousdisease—writing?it never felt like my disease, before only a dressing of another wound. Those…

Fiction

By: Zach Murphy Sierra liked to eat ice cream during blizzards. She’d make snow angels and draw funny faces on them. In the Spring, she liked to bask in the grass for hours and hours, as if the insects were…

Poetry

By: Stephen Kingsnorth Meeting Delhi We drop suddenly,overtaking the ox ploughingbeside the tarmac. Heat-hit,little mascara boyswrest the bags from usbefore, bewildered and affronted,we grab them back. We overload Ambassadors,unsuited cases and rucksacksbulging, over-flowingthe gaping jaws of convoy boots. Soon, undergraduating,…

EssayTravel

By: Miss Sasheera Mehrani Gounden Nearly four centuries ago, a Muslim traveller named Baba Budan brought back seven coffee seeds from Yemen to India. He planted these seeds near a mountain, commonly known today as “The Cradle of Indian Coffee.”…