Renovation Barbara Phillips I know it’s only 10:00 am, but join me in having a martini. We’ll be going with my husband, Bob, to his Family Grab Bag Party at his daughter’s home— “Festivus,” they call it. I can’t image going without preparing properly. You’ll need every bit of that gin.         Let’s sit at the...

Auschwitz Has a Gift Shop by Naomi Anne Goldner I’m sixteen and sitting on a Polish charter bus, staring at the itinerary my Tel Aviv high school teachers have passed around. We’re coming down from the exhilaration of being on a plane with our classmates, all the way from Israel, on what we anticipate will...

That Word by Grace Culbertson The night I first heard Trump spit out the “p” word on the Access Hollywood tape, my legs clenched mid-stride, holding me firm between the kitchen and living room. Frozen and framed in the doorway, I saw the television remote just a few feet away. Heat rose from my chest...

The Vanishing Threshold Erin Byrne It’s sunny in modern-day Seattle, but outside my writing room window, snowflakes slant down onto black iron balconies and pelt the swastika atop the Arc de Triomphe. In this area of my house, it’s January, 1944.         I’m writing a novel series about occupied Paris and this is the space where...