Literary Heist

Literary Heist wants to democratize the literary and art world by publishing an online magazine that isn't centered around making a profit.

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The Sudden Whisper Between Silk and Flesh

The Sudden Whisper Between Silk and Flesh

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Ecclesiastes was Right

Great Artists Steal: How Artists Really Get Their Ideas by Debra N. Mancoff Frances Lincoln August 25, 2026, 224 pp. In 903 BCE, King Solomon observed in the Hebrew book of Ecclesiastes, “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” In 1976 CE, George Harrison did again what the Chiffons did in 1963 and was ordered to pay $1.6 million…

Ecclesiastes was Right

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Moses’ Brother

“Fuck off.” Aaron shouted to his mother. “You’re going.” “Get away. No.” “Rude little boy. Nothing you can—” He yelled over her, “Sending me off to just get rid me. You’re white trash.” From the stained-glass windows with outlines of the Virgin Mary and an infant Jesus around the house, the high-rise ceilings, and tacky lion pillars in front of the entrance, his statement was as much a farce as…

Moses’ Brother

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Disaster, Evil, and Moral Truth in Henry James: Genotiva’s Analysis

In his essay “Henry James’s Imagination of Disaster,” David Genotiva explains James’s understanding of “disaster” as follows: For James, disaster is not just catastrophe or tragedy; it is a deep, penetrating insight into human nature, evil, and the hidden, darker side of life. It is his way of seeing and representing the truth of human experience, where moral failure, corruption, and suffering…

Disaster, Evil, and Moral Truth in Henry James: Genotiva’s Analysis

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The Blue Binder

Victor grew up inside a trailer park with dilapidated trailers packed together like tuna in a rusty old can. His grandmother’s trailer smelled of cleaning supplies; the scent she brought home from cleaning offices overnight. She raised Victor alone after his mother abandoned him for a life as a hippie drifting from commune to commune. She knew he was different: not able to speak, withdrawn,…

The Blue Binder

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Trojan Horse

While fathers hid hooded white robes in secret closets and worked to steal their humanity, black maids working for them stole their children’s hearts.

Trojan Horse

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The Wrong Road

From early childhood, Iancu Aursulesei learned how to survive in a hard world. He came from a Roma family, and as far back as he could remember, he had lived in a neighborhood full of brawlers, thieves, and people who ran afoul of the law. His father was a compulsive poker player and died when Iancu was twelve, under suspicious circumstances, in a brawl that erupted after a scandal at a card…

The Wrong Road

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Jiaan's Flowers

They boarded up all the flowers again. Protesters had torn down the fence in the middle of the night, and there had been quite a commotion, or so Jiaan heard when he came to work this morning. The workers had just put the barriers back up, all tall and plastic and laden with signs marked KEEP OUT, and he stood there in his black uniform and helmet, baton in hand, patrolling the area with his…

Jiaan's Flowers

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Happy Mother’s Day

I still think of you as Mother’s Day comes around on the calendar each year even though I can no longer talk to you in person or on the phone. You were always a part of me, and I was a part of you, and that will never go away as you rest in heaven and I rest on earth. You were one of the best, and will always be remembered. I can hear the movement of your feet as you dance around in heaven. Happy…

Happy Mother’s Day

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Then and Now

When I was young, I could bounce out of bed; now I must cautiously slither instead. Back then my fingers could function with ease; now I must ask, “Will you open this, please?” These days my hearing’s no longer robust; I sometimes miss what is being discussed. Smiling and nodding can go a long way toward making folks think you hear what they say. Vision impairment can cause me to laugh when on TV…

Then and Now

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Method of Loci

The way Dad’s memory holds sacred some words, like finial and abandons others, like thirst Son Wife love, is like a memory palace its walls, dome and all within razed, and from atop the rubble Odin’s Muninn takes its final flight

Method of Loci

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‘ŌKOLEHAO

Sprinkle my ashes On a spoonful of ʻōkolehao And gulp like medicine. I swear from beyond You’ll conjure up dreams Set on ti plant shores When Kamehameha ruled And bent-backed haoles Served the royals. haoles: Caucasians ʻōkolehao: spirit fermented from the root of the ti plant

‘ŌKOLEHAO

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The Weeping Willow Tree

The willow tree sags in the wind. To me it is a symbol of sadness and sorrow, crying its green eyes out down to the earth. It’s always the same way, even tomorrow. I stay down by the weeping willow tree. I too, cry my green eyes out- down to the earth. Burdens are heavy to carry and so is sorrow. That’s where you will find me and the willow tree- even tomorrow. The breeze picks up now and…

The Weeping Willow Tree

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Colourful Promises and Frozen Wishes

Frozen Wishes Their early days seemed to be like living in a wonderland; full of treats in hidden cafes, surprise gifts of cheap chocolates… She thought he was an angel, but his wings were as rigid as stalactites. His heart stowed away in a rocky box in darkest cave. Cold threats stabbed her heart like thin needles. He wouldn’t divorce her. She switched off her phone’s microphone. Her goal: fly…

Colourful Promises and Frozen Wishes

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A Poem Because Of Helen

This poem is dedicated to the last cut cord of wood. To the hobgoblins behind insomnia’s pressboard paneling. To the bloodless holes inside my hands and unswerving nightlife of dreams and nightmares. To the amethyst heart and Cretaceous Period. This poem is for you, the stranger, the strange, the estranged, summer’s sandcastles washed away, youth throttled, the demon drink let loose from its…

A Poem Because Of Helen

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Be you

To my Ella, to my Arlo, There is no mould that was made for you, no shape you must be pressed into. Be extraverted, fill the room, let your laughter lead the way. Be introverted, guard your quiet, let your stillness have its say. Be neurodivergent, wired in wonder, your mind a map no one else can read. Be neurotypical, walk the worn path, either way, you are everything I need. Be loud, be wild,…

Be you

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Deadname

Your child cuts his long curls. Deep crimson bleeds across the tub after he dyes them. He didn’t live into his given name. Father, please look! He’s trying to talk. You look away, so you don’t see a boy. You cut him off, “I gave you that name.” And his faith in you bleeds because his self can’t live. Father, inside your home he dies for someone to see the dieline of peach fuzz and acne. A look he…

Deadname