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January - April, 2012: eleven Delaware teens take their own lives,

another 116 attempt suicide.

The glint from a father’s

safe, a smooth edge of a worn medicine

cabinet, that belt you wore to junior

prom and never again. A pact,

but you didn’t know each other, would

never sit together. Come hang

with us sloppily scribbled on the welcome

sign installed last year; a layer

of paint covers it, but not before

half the school has posted. Boots

crunching in the snow outside

drown out.

Mr. Frankenstein on What to Keep

Alphabetized cereals, wine bottles

with the labels facing out, and a damp

indent in a king-sized

mattress. Sometimes the earth forgets

that it is responsible for living

things. In the winter, the cold

holds onto odors and breathes

them into itself, recycling back

neighborhood gossip. Sometimes

your boss takes two weeks to report

you missing. You loved the calm

months of snow so much, you took

some inside to keep

in the freezer, hoping to glance

at it come April. But even you

can’t possess the sky’s

children. They will come sneaking

from the kitchen, sliding down

your throat, into your chest. Nature’s kindness

will allow rapidity. Sometimes

your neighbor will laugh at how lonely

you were and then buy your car

from your sister.

Chelsea N. Fabian is an earthbound spirit who spends too much time staring at the moon. She is currently an English and ESL instructor at Delaware Technical Community College, and plans to attend a PhD program beginning in Fall 2020 studying contemporary American literature and gender and queer theory. She enjoys writing pieces that whisper quietly while gently sinking their teeth into your insides.

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