HOOT ONLINE, ISSUE 87, AUGUST 2020 – MICRO FICTION, POETRY, MEMOIR, BOOK REVIEWS

Aging
by Cathy Barber

I see now my ignorance,
what I had no measure of,
shoulders that will not reach,
knuckles that squeal
when bent, knees that creak
and lock. If I could relive
my youth, I would be a better
daughter.
                  I would leap
from my chair to carry the plates,
open the doors, ask how it feels.
I would live a bit in the future,
allow the present to sort itself.

 

It’s One of Those Better
by Naomi Ayala

take it easy for a while times, the crickets
whiling away, the just-sprung up tulips cupping
the bluest blue, even the pin oaks in a sort of slumber
the Sunday Baptists, the corner bodega.

 

That was the year
by: J.S. Absher

in the wet ground below the walnut trees chimneys rose from the mud
maples covered in locusts cried day and night
(Daddy translated) pharaoh

The evening star swam into the mouth of the moon
I rode my stick horse under the willow
the world glowed green and yellow

I rolled in the moss, on tiny flowers like stars in a felt sky
if I asked for something I got it or forgot it
that year nothing happened and nothing had to

 

Feeb
by: Pat Foran

The Feeb is suspiciously polite.

The Feeb believes the selfies he takes make him look indifferently confident.

The Feeb buys Mens Slim Comfortably Knitted Long Sleeve V-Neck Sweaters on Amazon Prime.

The Feeb listens to books on tape so he can learn to speak softly, ever softly.

The Feeb DMs “I heart you” to a woman who DM’d him a heart or at least The Feeb thought it was a heart but it was hard to tell on his cell.

The Feeb is trying to cut down on flavored coffee.

The Feeb, on stage during Open Mic Night at The Comedy Club, tells a joke about the meandering soul a lazy shopper left in the Express line, a meandering soul that’d been split open and is sinking like a stone next to the Starburst® and beef jerky, but The Feeb forgets the punch line.

 

–

Cathy Barber has an MFA in Writing, Vermont College of Fine Arts. Her work has been published in journals, including SLAB, Sweet, Slant and Kestrel and anthologies, including Fire and Rain: Ecopoetry of California

Naomi Ayala is the author of three books of poetry; most recently, Calling Home: Praise Songs and Incantations (Bilingual Press). She lives in Washington, DC where she teaches and works as a freelance writer, editor, and translator.

J.S. Absher has won the NC Poetry Society’s Lena Shull Book Award, for Mouth Work, and the Clinton Larson Poetry Prize from BYU Studies Quarterly. He lives in Raleigh, NC, with his wife Patti.

Pat Foran doesn’t forget punch lines, but he only knows three. His work has appeared in Little Fiction, WhiskeyPaper, Milk Candy Review and elsewhere. Find him on Twitter at @pdforan

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