By Koye Oyedeji, Illustrations by Anna Schuleit Haber
It has been a year and five days since Mayowa lost her daughter—lost, because she cannot say the other word: suicide.
By Traci Brimhall
The last time I left your house I saw a moth on the black skin of a puddle, ruining herself on the moon’s reflection. Dear sphinx hawkmoth
By Leila Chatti
Hidden in a dim stall as the muezzin calledall worshipers to prayer, I touched privatelythe indelible stain.
The summer after, a stormsplit the sky over Hergla and I wanted to be in it.
He says he’s never really stoppedspeaking to God. Says it’s in his DNA, askingfor things.
By Catherine Lacey, Illustrations by Jon Krause
I woke on my personal day feeling impersonal. I’d slept long and late, so much I barely recognized the time of day in my bedroom, dust made obvious in the hard light, no job or appointment or interview to rush toward....
By Kaveh Akbar
My reward for waking: close wallsand limestone dust, spitevaporating from my tongue. First
I count and recountmy toes, throw out grainfor the carp, snatch a femur
Do I have to talk about fear? So much has already been said about hidden spiders, compass needleslodged in the soft of an eye.
It’s normal to do it alone, the feint-and-jab of forgetting. I believe in only what I can recite
from memory, like the ninety-nine names for thirst: soft-hell, root-torn-from-soil, rain-
By Erika Meitner, Photography by Ryan Spencer Reed
Erika Meitner's poetry and prose, combined with photography from Ryan Spencer Reed, take us inside the city of Cleveland during the Republican National Convention.