HOOT Online, Issue 36, Micro Fiction and Mini Poems




by Kim Suttell

Seven hundred new planets is not enough
unless they sing as we sang, unless strung
into prime sequence like a miracle. I’m so
awesome at asking questions. Like biochemistry
I preside for giving words to tackle mysteries:
parents, love, transfiguration. It’s my discipline,
how I’m seen through, flayed into ordered life.
See what I marvel at? See what I don’t
know? Everyday sinking under all
that sense that can be made of if I only try.





by Kayla Pongrac

My friend mails me maps with nothing on them—no stars to indicate the places he wants
to go, no brief notes acknowledging the cities he’s explored, no push-pin marks to indicate
that the map was hanging in his bedroom or office before it journeyed to my mailbox. I’ve
received so many maps over the past year and a half that much of the world now lays flat in my
dresser drawer. Cities and states rub up against my underwear, street names inhale the lightly
perfumed scent of my bras, capitols demand that my cotton socks move over and make some
room. Sometimes, early in the mornings, I can feel the weight of all my undergarments upon
the world. This reminds me of your dirty shoes and all the apples you’ve bit into without me—
each map representing a seed I’ve yet to sow.






Kim Suttell sits by lakes infrequently but thinks that’s the right place for a poet to be. Find her poems in Right Hand Pointing, The Cortland Review, Forth Magazine and others, compiled at page48.weebly.com

Kayla Pongrac is an avid writer, reader, tea drinker, and record spinner. To read more of Kayla’s work, visit www.kaylapongrac.com or follow her on Twitter @KP_the_Promisee.






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