As a supplement to our main issue of The Closed Eye Open, we have an ongoing feature called Maya’s Micros. As the name suggests, it will be curated by contributing editor Maya Highland and will exclusively feature short form writing.
Since it can be a long wait between issues, we’ve decided to keep the creativity rolling by focusing on the littlest form of creative writing—micros. Whether you consider them micro-poems or micro-fictions, they are welcome here…as long as each individual piece is 108 or fewer. (Why 108, you may ask? Have fun speculating…)
We like the idea of saying a lot in a small space–the complexity of self-expression in balance with an economy of language. And of course, since they are short, they can be enjoyed within a few moments–perhaps a line or phrase sticking with you to carry along for a while.
We will update Maya’s Micros in small “batches” a few times per month until our next full issue is ready for release.
If you like what you see and would like to get e-mail updates, please e-mail us at theclosedeyeopen@gmail.com.
Click here to submit your micros for publication.
Also, you may follow us on Instagram @theclosedeyeopen.
the botany of desire
why won’t my amaryllis bulb flower in its window pot
google search says it belongs under shrub beds where the year’s sweep of brushfire would pull
at its flowering or in open sandy stretches so rarely dormant it is mistaken
for a heavy-seeded perennial a flower of its size needs strong winds to shake the seeds
loose and then rain successively driving them deeper into dirt where they sprout together
dense and highly localized and flowering all at once they are visited by carpenter bees
and by night owlet moths and the reason for these relationships is not apparent to anyone
Call Me Courageous for Letting Myself Feel This for Once
After Neil Hilborn “I am just carbon and bad timing”
My aorta swells with passion inside my chest. I
wore one as a ring once while dissecting a cow’s heart with my crush. I am
falling for somebody new now, just
wait. This squishy vessel presents oxygen, not carbon,
to my extremities like a gift. I feel the hope in my fingers and
I let them. I will not allow the bad
memories to get in the way of my dusty desire’s timing.
Día de los Muertos
The old woman selling candles
in a stall a little way from the shrine
offers wisdom with a sly smile
as she wraps tallow cylinders
in butcher paper:
Find a still, quiet place
among the graves. Be silent
and listen.
The One
I lie down in the grass near the water, breathing away the aching in my belly, or rather breathing into it, dissolving it as relative truth. And I begin to feel the trees. A chasm in my belly opens up, the center of love created through the wormhole of pain.
And I feel the womb so spacious that every child of the world could fit inside: every tree, animal, human, droplet of water and every wave, every roar of the lion and every cell of its mane, every laugh returned to void unheard but resonant as love gained, all collapsing into my belly until there is only one.
Self
Although the azure sky is devoid of clouds
The wind weaves a loose palm frond blanket above
Dappling the ground and all who pass under
Beyond, the sea crashes to the shore
As timeless as the Earth itself
Heralding a lesson of life’s continuity
And serving to give a place of peace and self
Steve Barichko is from Terryville, CT. His work has most recently appeared in Cathexis Northwest Press. He is a 2020 Pushcart Prize Nominee. Find him on Twitter and Instagam @stevebarichko.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Cameron Chiovitti is a twenty-three-year-old nonbinary Canadian. They’ve been writing since they were a child, but truly delved into poetry at age sixteen. Currently studying creative writing at OCAD University in Toronto, Ontario, Cameron’s already self-published a chapbook, Paint My Skin With Sweetness, which can be found on Amazon and Barnes & Nobles. See their previously published work and social media accounts at linktr.ee/maskofpoetry.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Tucson writer Susan Cummins Miller, a former field geologist, paleontologist, and college instructor, has published six novels and an anthology containing the works of 34 women writers of the American frontier. Her writing, inspired by her life and work in the desert West, arises from the intersections of landscape, science, history, prehistory, and time. She writes to explore the mysteries that lie all around us—to discover what is hidden, what lies behind surface observations. Two poetry collections, Making Silent Stones Sing and Deciphering the Desert, are forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Kelsy Johnson is a spiritual poet and dancer living in the Floridian nature with her sisters and cats. Her work focuses on the beauty of life and the human’s complete oneness with nature.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Teresa Alexander is University of Cincinnati graduate who loves to write poetry and flash fiction. She has been twice published in East Fork: A Journal of the Arts, has a poem in the book Depths of Summer by Wingless Dreamer, and most recently has a flash fiction story published by Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. She has also self-published a book of poems called My Poems: A Snippet of my Life.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Like Shimarisu Do
What mischief Spring brings—
cheery chipmunks clown around
in my flower bed.
Is Summer too soon?
Cheeky chipmunk checks my deck,
collects birdseed specks.
Fall’s bountiful start—
chockfull chipmunk breaches
my shinrin-yoku.
Ready for Winter?
Chipmunk carves sanctuary
under my sidewalk.
Tucked in like shimarisu,
I, too, burrow all season.
Behind the Veil
Heads down, two sisters walk together, past the Entrance Only sign of the monastery and onto the sidewalk lined with street litter and a wall of rose bushes. The wind pushes plastic bags and coffee cups into the gutter, and the sisters crush cigarette butts beneath their feet. Side-by-side, the tops of their fingers brush between them. The roses are red and blooming.
to tuesday nights
My name is tangled in
your whisky-stained breath—
Delicious and painted amber.
a taste I love because it’s you
—all the yours I’ve met
caustic in your stale, shaking
honesty. I replay you
over and over like a needle
Stuck in vinyl, worn in
as the quilt on your bed—
Every movement of your mouth
every brush of your fingertips
—until you mean exactly
what I want.
sunset
see the crow
old and full
in her return
see the red
tips of fire
linger in mercy
see how she
like me
is between two wings
falling
A Word
When you fold something
it fits in the place
you put it.
It is protected by
the layers it has.
It is hidden now
from the present day
but can be brought
out later,
unfolded and shared.
It can lie alone
for long periods as we
all must, at times.
Like stories.
After a nomadic military childhood, Lisa Kamolnick planted herself in northwest Florida’s sugar-white beach sands. In 2007, she traced an ancestral trail and settled in northeast Tennessee highlands. Lisa holds a B.A. in English from University of Florida. Her work explores human nature, the human condition, the natural world, and what lies between and beyond. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in HeartWood Literary Magazine, Women Speak Vol. 7, Mildred Haun Review, Black Moon Magazine, Tennessee Voices, and other publications.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Tana Buoy lives in Nebraska, where she searches for inspiration on low-maintenance roads and in towns without stoplights. Her work can be found in The Flat Water Stirs: An Anthology of Emerging Nebraska Poets. She received her MFA from the University of Nebraska at Omaha in July of 2021. Tana lives in Lincoln with her husband and two cats.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Rachel Baila is a travel writer and poet who splits her time between Tennessee and California. She has been published in numerous print and online publications, and has just completed her first full-length poetry manuscript, Letters to Nowhere. Rachel also works with other creatives to help them unblock their artistic flow and is the editor of the forthcoming literary mag, Fauxmoir. She can be found on Instagram at @rachel_baila and @fauxmoir_lit_mag and on Twitter at @rachel_baila and @Fauxmoir.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
David Dixon is a physician, poet, and musician who lives and practices in the foothills of North Carolina. His poetry has appeared in Rock & Sling, The Northern Virginia Review, Connecticut River Review, FlyingSouth, Sand Hills Literary Review, and elsewhere. His first book of poetry The Scattering of Saints is forthcoming.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
RW Mayer has been a teacher and administrator in Southern Oregon and Western Washington public schools. He lives in Snohomish County in Washington. He reads and writes, and he fiddles with the guitar.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
You cannot copy content of this page