is a retired activist, instructor, and fundraiser who lives in beautiful Bella Vista, Arkansas, USA. He traditionally published two novels, a chapbook, and more than 90 short stories. He also writes and publishes poetry and nonfiction. He has received support from The Ohio Arts Council, The Arkansas Arts Council, and The Speculative Literature Foundation. He earned degrees in English from Charter Oak College and Miami University. But he remains proudest of developing creative opportunities for homeless people and people with mental illnesses.
follow on Bluesky: @michaelfontana.bsky.social
SOME RECENT PUBLICATIONS:
The fishermen by the Taff stood like obelisks from the water, tall, sturdy, dark in the shadows of dawn, and silent there too, the only sounds those of fish splashing gently to the surface from instant to instant before disappearing again. I passed these men and they didn’t acknowledge me, which was fine; I felt dead already anyway.
“Sketch from Cardiff, 2001” – Gordon Square Review, 2026
Back in 1978, Petey-Petey shook his tambourine at me. “Drop a buck in here,” he said. He was twenty-five and stood about five-nine, with short ashen hair, hazel eyes, milky skin, and gangly limbs. The tambourine made him seem like a musician when he was just another beggar.
“Petey-Petey” – Blood+Honey, 2026
Swimming through floodwaters that swirled in my street, I suddenly came upon a body: not swimming but floating there, bloated with moisture, eyes closed, already haunted by flies. I slowed down and then moved the body along to the dry part of the road where firefighters and rescue squads set up tents and inflated rafts.
“This one’s a goner,” I said to a woman in scuba gear.
“Flood” – Potomac Review, 2026
Jake grew tense as he scanned the convenience store’s racks with their candy and condoms and Coke cans neatly lined up. The lone straggler in the store was a ragged black man purchasing lottery tickets, scratchers that the clerk behind the counter offered him with haste. But the process bogged down when the man insisted on selecting his own numbers for the nightly drawings, staring as if at an oracle in the overhead lights for inspiration.
The tension in Jake’s body abated as he located the candy bar he wanted. He picked it up and palmed it before deftly dumping it in his jacket pocket.
“Shoplifter” – The Yard: Crime Blog, 2025
Elsie sat at the table in the dining room where she was assailed by Polly, the manager of the nursing home where we lived. “You didn’t finish your beets,” Polly said. She was in her thirties, with hair of straw and a face lined beyond her years.
“I don’t want them,” Elsie said.
“But they’re so good,” Polly said, rubbing her stomach as if proof of their goodness.
“I said I don’t want them.”
“You must eat, dear, to keep up your strength.” Polly leaned in, near Elsie’s face, as if a familiar, family, an old friend, when she was none of the above.
“A Kiss” – The Bookends Review, 2025
Michael Fontana 