Holdfast by Jeanine Pfeiffer

I. Mendocino headlands, 6:20 a.m. Muffled grey skies, finger-chilling breeze, salinity infusing nostrils and eyes. The rhythmic whoosh and sigh of waves engulfing, abandoning, then reclaiming landfall with the fervency of ambivalent lovers. We have one hour before the minus tide recovers a sister-world of beings left gasping in dry oxygen. My girlfriend Terry leads the way along gravelly path, nimbly stepping alongside scruffy cliff sides….

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A Full Recounting of Flowers… by Frederick Speers

A Full Recounting of Flowers, That is, Remembering a Time When I Nearly Transformed What Really Happened Into Myth Back when he climbed into my bed, I was fourteen. In a whisper he claimed, “Love between men is the purest form, when you stop and think about it.” When he stopped kissing my mouth, I heard a gasp—. Then my thoughts returned like a snow-shower…

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