To avoid being shot, my uncle, having hidden a Pole in his grandfather clock, rolls into an open snowy grave, lies face down. He holds his breath while Ukrainian Insurgent Army soldiers prod his leg with their guns, then disgruntled, shrug, swing their guns over their shoulders and leave. He opens his eyes. Couldn’t they return and kick him in… Read more →

The funeral director lifts sealed ashes into flecks of sunlight, knows he’s just performed a small miracle, turned our mother into a well-made box my sister and I can drive home in the front seat of her convertible bug. In life, she was never that easy. He asks if we’re okay, the way we stare at it, as if it… Read more →