Jen Frantz

HORROR NOVEL

I was afraid of going outside.
Many terrible things can happen
outside—you can get hit by
a train or you can fall into
a hole. Really, you can die.
Anyway, I thought I was
a killer. I myself could be
the bad thing that happened.
I avoided knives. I told myself
prayers. I called my grandmother
and she said I was sweet like
music. You’re sweet, she said,
like music. One day, I went out
on my porch. The sun was going
down over the power lines, and
an old man was walking his dog.
I felt sick. I knew I was bad—
my thoughts were bad. I stood
there in my slippers. A teenage
boy walked with a pizza slice
in his hands. I stepped down
into the lawn. There were bugs
crawling on my ankles. Bugs!
Way up above, unbothered
by sin, the moon made a wan
spectacle—hey, my neighbor
shouted, you’re alive!
In the distance a train
sounded. The road steamed.
I picked up my phone.
Grandma, I said, you
wouldn’t believe what
I’ve done…

JEN FRANTZ is a college dropout from Ohio. Her poems appear in DIAGRAM, The Drift, and Fence. She is a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop, where she was Poetry Editor of The Iowa Review.