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 in between our full issues.
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.
Paradox
You’re either
awake
or asleep;
you can’t be both.
Yet, love
and heartbreak
seem co-joined.
Endlessly, we’re
toggling
between the two.
where do we go from here?
you know i’ll give you anything
but space
and there will be no ceasefire
there will be no time
for blood to run cold
or for a single
breath to be taken
before I’m wheezing
your name
charging full force
tightening my scarf
until I’m so close
to death
that I have nothing
to lose
My Monsters Enjoy This Party
After Kate Baer
I throw a slumber party for my fear.
I wonder if everyone can sense
the scream within my silence. Sleeping
bags litter the bedroom floor. My heart
skips when I think of endings.
I turn the lights off
to see how a casket feels.
I lie down,
hanging over the edge of the bed.
All my monsters giggle
under their pillows—
entangling their fingers with mine.
Thunder
As if the sky would abandon us,
as if the roof provides no shelter,
as if the night waits for our answer,
as if the thin blue flame is a flash
of anger, a vein beneath his skin
as thin as paper,
we cower
as if we’ve been called before
our father, as if he roars again.
March 7th 2003
I am being ripped through spring air
My mother
on the
porch
sweating
G
R
A
P
E
C
I
G
A
R
hanging her old chevy
running
smoke is the first thing I learn to breath
Chris Bullard lives in Philadelphia, PA. Last year, Main Street Rag published his poetry chapbook, Florida Man, and Moonstone Press published his poetry chapbook, The Rainclouds of y. His poetry has appeared recently in Jersey Devil, Stonecrop, Wrath-Bearing Tree, Waccamaw, and other publications. He was nominated this year for the Pushcart Prize.
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Jarrett Adamson is a poet living in Brooklyn, New York. They hope to publish a book of their poems about love and longing soon.
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Ang E. Miller works 10 jobs but primarily as an English teacher. Outside of work, she lectures her dog for eating yarn she’s crocheting with.
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John Tessitore has been a newspaper reporter, a magazine writer, and a biographer. He has taught British and American history and literature at colleges around Boston and has directed national policy studies on education, civil justice, and cultural policy. He serves as Co-Editor Across the Pond for The Wee Sparrow Poetry Press. His poems have appeared in the The American Journal of Poetry, The Wallace Stevens Journal, The Ekphrastic Review, The Closed Eye Open, Wild Roof Journal, and elsewhere. He has also published seven chapbooks and a novella, and has launched a podcast called Be True, all available at www.johntessitore.com.
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ALUKAH is a nonbinary interdisciplinary artist based in the construct of Boston. They are probably sitting watching the Charles fill with trash and float away it is so beautiful. X @alukahh
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A Jar of Marbles
The dust
and the light
all the glass
reflects are in
their small ways
antique, too.
Sashay Sand
lemon trees with bees, wave goodbye
[to] flowers
in print, to strike paradise [out]
a single match [that] same hand
Kayaking
We pulled out of the shallow river
onto a gravel sandbar for lunch
dehydrated and stunned with sun
goldfinches and kingfishers
sang and dove
I watched her carefully
I hadn’t desired anyone
for a long time
and something like music
hummed through me
water lapping over rock
she would sing after lunch
as we drifted between high banks
I followed for a while
learning sunlight on riffles
the steady dip of blade into water
the way a day is always a day
Laying on eggshell silk sheets
A man once told me the saddest love that exists,
Is one that cannot exist beyond a bedroom
This love cannot be free but flies highest when it is
Weighted down by eggshell silk sheets
This love keeps its head buried deep into the pillow
Coming up once for air
And twice for kisses
This love is hot and tempered and steamy
But as the sun rises its tears fall
Because this love has memorized the sound of
Goodbyes
They are rough and hollow and frequent
This love is sad and sometimes doesn’t even know it
And that is the saddest part
Reliance
I awaken
Barely
But I know
It is way past
A reasonable time
So, I jump up
And begin my day
In the afternoon.
I sit
Down to write
And my eyes
Get heavy
As if to tell me
That I
Should put more effort
Into working out my face
Or I will share
With the world
That I forgot
To take my medication.
Again.
So, I fall asleep
Again,
Laptop in my lap,
After taking my medication
And wasting yet
Another
Beautiful
Day.
Brian Beatty is the author of five poetry collections. Beatty’s poems and stories have appeared in The American Journal of Poetry, Anti-Heroin Chic, The Appalachian Journal, Conduit, Cowboy Jamboree, CutBank, Evergreen Review, Exquisite Corpse, Gigantic, Gulf Coast, Hobart, Hoosier Noir, McSweeney’s, The Missouri Review, The Moth, NOON, The Quarterly, Rattle, RHINO, Seventeen, The Southern Review, and Sycamore Review. In 2021, he released Hobo Radio, a spoken-word album featuring banjo and guitar improvisations by Charlie Parr.
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Christine E. Hamm, queer & disabled English Professor, social worker, and student of Ecopoetics, has a PhD in English, and she lives in New Jersey. She recently won the Tenth Gate prize from Word Works for her manuscript, Gorilla. She has had work featured in North American Review, Nat Brut, Painted Bride Quarterly, and many others. She has published six chapbooks and several books — hybrid texts as well as poetry.
Note: The poem appearing above is a part of a work in progress called Two Thousand Reds, the result of choosing words and phrases from old literary magazines, mixing them up, and making them into poems — using as titles some of the 2000 names for red that I found on the Sherwin Williams website. I added words and tense changes of my own, which I included in brackets.
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James Engelhardt’s poems have appeared in the North American Review, Hawk and Handsaw, ACM: Another Chicago Magazine, Terrain.org, Painted Bride Quarterly, Fourth River, and many others. His ecopoetry manifesto is “The Language Habitat,” and his book, Bone Willow, is available from Boreal Books, an imprint of Red Hen Press. He lives in the South Carolina Upstate and is a lecturer in the English Department at Furman University.
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Allyssa Haygood-Taylor is an author from South Carolina, who has had poems published in Asterism Literary Magazine, Beyond Words, Moon LovePress, and more. She is also a 2022 semi-finalist for the Red Wheelbarrow Poetry Prize.
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Charissa Campes is a writer of multiple genres, including poetry, nonfiction, and fiction. She is currently finishing up a memoir that lines up with its own collection of poetry. She has fancy degrees majoring in Behavioral Science and Human Services. As expected, she is fascinated with the human mind and behavior and often shows this in her writing.
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