Michael Malan

It begins with an old story about two lovers, a deserted house, red flowers, probably impatiens, and a flurry of assurances, where they might go, who they will see, a sense that something or someone is missing. And then there are those events that involve difficult decisions, a cast of characters from a novel they read as college students: a woman who was unfaithful to her husband, unforgiveable really, and yet the husband seemed boorish and overly sentimental. Together they move through rooms that seem to be vanishing as they walk, the air outside rushing in behind them from different vistas, configurations of trees, lakes, cabins on a shoreline. September mornings, the promise of some unexpected happening, what you would think was unlikely in any context, but here, in this domestic scene, is frozen in memory. They are dancing to a rock & roll classic from the past and she asks him, "What is the name of this song?" Or, as he is about to drive away, she reaches through the window of his car and touches his beard. He still feels her hand on his face like a kiss, as he drives past vistas of wildflowers, generations of farmers and frontiersmen, his vision shifting from the past to the future. There is something holy about the road.

From Issue 48, Summer 2024 / First online publication June 01, 2024

Michael Malan is editor of Cloudbank, a literary journal in Corvallis, Oregon (cloudbankbooks.com). He is the author of three books from Blue Light Press: Overland Park (2017, poems and flash fiction), Tarzan’s Jungle Plane (2019, flash fiction), and Deep Territory (2021, poetry). His work has appeared recently in Lake Effect, Sugar House Review, Washington Square Review, Cincinnati Review, and Poetry East.