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Underground
“One. Two. Three.” I counted in the dark.People huddled in the crowded subway tunnel smelling of damp wool coats, black-market cigarettes, coal dust and fear. Momma held my hand squeezing it tight to calm us both. Papa was upside fighting the fires that followed the explosions of Hitler’s rockets. People shifted uncomfortably on the floor…
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Echoes of 1933
The greatest generation, where are you when you are needed, again? Gone to flowers, every one. Well, not every one. But many, most. I cannot imagine what my Grandfather, either of them, would say about Trump. One grandfather was an engineer during WWII. He built the runways for the RAF that German bombers pounded every…