Maya's Micros
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.
March 2021
Batch 014: 03.12.21
Cassandra Moss
The Taxonomist
ineffable
ungraspable
form
named
and
divided
to
suit
the
purposes
of
(not)
all
Night
lower yourself,
unfold your limbs
and stretch your bones out across
actions always waiting
to be taken up again.
Geneva Zane
You were best
You were best bent over the Hudson,
seed pods collecting in the
culverts and tide pools and
in your shirt cuffs, your
necklace,
tanned with pleasure and
asking for money I
already gave you.
You were best unchallenged,
belly white and cute enough
to eat:
neural Ixion.
I should have caught you a fish
or fed you, in some way, before work
came like a soldier, and made you grow.
The tedious inch of June.
Durell Carter
For Nostalgia’s Sake
On a Friday afternoon, I’ll taste four years ago
On your breath, and dreams only you,
Me, and the version of the god we both believe
In at the moment, will know about. I let my
Fingertips guide you to the parts of me
Resistance and What-If’s have always claimed hold to.
You put your pain and your overabundances
Of bad yesterdays over my shoulders
And joined me in a communion
Only meant for Us.
I let you taste all my regrets and
Envy you witnessed on me, from the same couch
You are lying on, while waiting to arrive at the
The same memory we will both cherish someday.
Kay L. Cook
Moy Kudo
A Helping False
Undo the art of a torment, to since an ever time earth.
Remember, nothing taught is a helping gentleman.
An awaited faith shall endure a darkness indebted in pains.
Ask a void: what false masters welcome a promise flattery.
Contributor Information
Cassandra Moss was born in Manchester and moved to London to study at King’s College London. After a period working in the film industry, she worked in the ELT industry. Not too long ago, she moved to Dublin to do an MPhil in Linguistics at Trinity College Dublin. She now lives and writes by the Irish sea. Her writing has appeared in Succour, 3am Magazine, Cricket Online Review, And/Or, The Squawk Back, The Passage Between, Posit, Sunspot Lit, Underwood Press, Beyond Words Literary Magazine, KAIROS, and The Bangalore Review.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Geneva Zane received her BA in creative writing from Bard College, where she was awarded the Lockwood Prize in Creative Writing. Her novel, Stringbean and the Grace of Dog, was a finalist in the 2018 Fence Modern Prize in Prose: Literature Appropriate for Children. She has been published in PCC Inscape, The Mighty Line, The Bangalore Review, Kind Writers, The Perch, and Hanging Loose Magazine. She lives in the Hudson Valley, by the river.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Durell Carter is a teacher and a poet based out of Oklahoma. He has earned his graduate degree in English with a focus in rhetoric and creative writing. He has had poetry published in Prometheus Dreaming, Midway Journal, From Whispers to Roars, Petrichor Journal, and other publications.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Kay L. Cook is a gay parent in a racially mixed family. She holds a BA in Secondary Education, M.Ed in Special Education, and certification as a school psychologist. Born and raised in the Midwest, she is now a long time New Yorker, where she lives with her wife, two dogs, and unlimited hope for continued human development. Recent publications: Rise Up Review, The Write Launch, Wild Roof Journal, Two Horatio, and Poets Reading the News.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Moy Kudo is a Marine veteran who is an avid poet. He is working towards getting his first book published, a collection of poems. Moy is also interested in reaching a wider audience because he feels as though he has a message that needs to be known. Moy’s poems have dramatic messages that will produce cinematic changes in the human mind.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
February 2021
Batch 013: 02.28.21
Olivia Lee
Half Stoic in a Field
Took a walk in the wind
and
long, tall grass.
Drop down into it.
Let the wind pass.
Hear a mower
in the distance
and hope
no one,
mistakenly,
comes to my field.
If they do
at least we will go
together—
go quickly:
chop—chop—
covered over
with long, tall grass.
Elisabetta LaCava
At This Time
When my fingers brush
tapping on keys, pressing
with the small click of shapes,
now I meet heaven, or better—
harmony meets me.
No one stirs, radiance stretches
the room is gray and consents.
We have decided here
to put clean thought to paper
a pebble
I lay my hands light with bliss
wrists rest to wait
simple—
I savor what has not begun.
Mitch Rayes
Black River
the ice on the black river thins out then opens
where the water is moving too fast to freeze
we flatten out and slide toward the edge
see who comes closest
Covenant
the storm passes
I drop to my knees in the soft earth
I cannot name all that the rains have taken away
or all that the rains have brought to bloom
D.S. Randol
cornflower
Muted grass
Blades of grace
turned blank, envious
Serrating underfoot
The world seems smaller
A flower
as tiresome
as the rainforest
Sade Collier
winter in nyc
the still of washington square park cogs itself back into life / with the coming of snow / spider legs of winter crawling in and out of sight / the children / have learned to bask in it / dance through the flake-breaded morning / weave their booted feet and bright-colored coats through the thick of it / little toddler-sized ants / learning of their desire / munching on the dustspecs of the cold / with such joie de vivre / do not let it die / the pigeons / etch hymns across the sky / above the city buildings / that fade into the grey-white of it all / the music is a piano key gone flat / yet / still singing
Contributor Information
Olivia Lee is a poet, novelist, playwright, and English professor. She has published two novels: The Unfading and The Unbinding. Her work has been published in Writing for Peace-DoveTales, an International Journal of the Arts, Sonnets for Shakespeare, WinglessDreamer, and Wild Roof Journal, among others. She is committed to social justice work, supporting Fair Trade companies and products, and her racial equity community group: The Social Justice Exchange. She enjoys traveling, books, art, listening to music, walking in the woods around her home, and spending time with her sister, Suzie, and their two dogs, George MacDonald and Keeper.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Elisabetta LaCava is a double immigrant from Italy and Venezuela who became a Texan some years ago. A multi-lingual writer, her work has appeared in the Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Penultimate Peanut Magazine, the 2021 Texas Poetry Calendar, and The Rio Review. She currently lives in Austin, Texas.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Mitch Rayes is a second generation Lebanese-Irish American from Detroit, based in Albuquerque.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
D.S. Randol is driven by poetry and the concepts of energy and passion. He writes to stay alive and to sleep better at night. Other than poetry, his interests include birdwatching, playing fighting games with varying success, and picking up trash on the side of the road. D.S. has moved around so much in the past year, he’s not sure where he calls home anymore. You can find some of his other work in the Cathexis Northwest Press and stay up to date on future publication on his Twitter, @sc_jtc.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Sade Collier is a first-year student studying at New York University. She is pursuing a double major in Politics and Journalism with a minor in Creative Writing. You can read her journalistic works through Affinity Magazine and Huffington Post, and await her upcoming publication in Beyond Words Literary Magazine.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
February 2021
Batch 012: 02.09.21
Mary Catherine Harper
How to Begin the Day
There is a choice here.
Better to choose the shadow.
See the interplay
between us and light.
Shadow pacing the distance,
a sure-footed guide.
Better yet, simply
close our eyes. Listen as birds
chirp into being.
Best of all, leave them
open as we warble, spell-
casting the sun. Rise.
John Grischow
On fall mornings, the
sun makes
one part
of the road
ahead
invisible
and we hurl
forward
a while
on blind faith
and good intentions.
Jaimeson Oakley
Stop the World
A short-flamed passion. What sits between expectation and reality. Fantasies of the mind. What I think about when I’m falling behind. Dry leaves of winter. The crunch of the words that fail to fall from our lips. I feel like hail. There are boulders rolling in from the hills. You drop into the dirt. When I look up, the trees are still stabbing into the sky. Unrelenting. We are not shiny people, but we want to be. Belonging between nowhere and forever. The only time that you are as frozen as the grass, is when I am standing before you. Solstice. Whatever it takes to not melt away.
Lauretta Salvini
The Ballpoint Pen on the Airport Floor
Pick me up, pick me up.
(The ballpoint pen says, looking at me from the airport floor.)
Pick me up, or the ugly cleaning machine will swallow me.
Don’t be afraid of touching me. Don’t hesitate and try me. I still have some ink for you: look at the blue line inside my transparent body. Take me with you, please, don’t let me face an untimely death.
As you let the blood run through the veins of those alive and kicking, let my ink speak and tell their intimate stories. Rich or poor, or sad like I am: a plastic derelict lost in the vastness of a non-place.
Parker Jamieson
The Metropolis at Dawn
Recall the morning birds
on the cobblestone—
How the cold surface is
a calm unity
For disengendered
Lives; here, simplicity binds.
Contributor Information
Mary Catherine Harper, a 2018 Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Award winner, was selected as the 2019 Ohio Arts Council poetry resident at the Fine Arts Work Center of Cape Cod. She has made her home at the confluence of the Auglaize and Maumee rivers in Ohio and organizes the yearly SwampFire Retreat (swampfire.org) for artists and writers at 4 Corners Gallery in Angola, Indiana. Her poem “Imagining Life As a Graffiti Artist” won the 2018 Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Prize, and her poetry has appeared in numerous journals, including The Comstock Review, Cold Mountain Review, Pudding Magazine, SLAB, MidAmerica, Tanka Journal, The Spectacle, Print-Oriented Bastards, Sheila-Na-Gig, and The Offbeat. Her Some Gods Don’t Need Saints chapbook was published in 2016. See marycatherineharper.org for more information.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
John Grischow was born and raised in Ohio, and he has called eastern North Carolina home for 25 years. John is a poet and English as second language teacher who looks to Dora Malech, Lyn Hejinian, and Gertrude Stein for influence; their work can be seen in the forthcoming anthology Love Letters to Gaia, as well as in Cathexis Northwest Press. John’s chapbook, Letter Alone, explores the power of each individual letter of the alphabet, and what that letter can mean and do independently of all other letters.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Jaimeson Oakley is currently pursuing his MFA in poetry from the NEOMFA program out of Cleveland, OH. He is originally from Lucasville, OH.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Lauretta Salvini holds an MS in Creative Writing from the University of Cambridge. She lives between London and Rome teaching, writing, and wearing Tasmanian boots in the rain and silk dresses in the sunshine. Her work has appeared in The Write Launch, Palm-Sized Press, and Poets’ Choice. Find her on Instagram @write_read_drive_in_rome.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Parker Jamieson is a poet from Buffalo, NY. They work in the Marilla cemetery and go to UB for Pre-law and English. They hope you enjoy reading and writing and they seek to help people belong in the world.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>