By Phillip Shabazz

The night she served us cereal for dinner because the gas was cut off,

she lit candles like it was a birthday party. Said grace over Cheerios.

We believed her when she called it a feast. Seven of us around

that table, bowls chipped at the rim, milk stretched thin with water,

and she sat there smiling like she'd pulled off a miracle. Maybe she had.

By Marjorie Sadin

Behind the curtain is the puppeteer.

At this time, there are arrests we hear about. By people with masks. People disappear. Others lose their jobs. They are the ones who don’t cheer for the puppeteer.

The audience watches the puppets to see what they will do next. It is mysterious how the puppets hold such sway over us. People are frightened by what they see, but it is dark and they are silent for the most part. Occasionally someone protests the puppets and they are dragged out of the theatre.

By Cheryl Caesar

In that oval office, white

and bilious yellow, like the eye

of a jaundice case,

trump crinkles his fat and bleary eyes

for the cameras. His right

hand grabs the left hand