Little Wrong Thing
- Little Wrong Thing
Once as a child I foundin the woods behind my housea little wrong thing witha circular hole in its side, no blood,
a clean cut. Curious boy I pressed
my finger inside and foundevery dawnextinguished—there was no morecolor to the world—
and roaring out of the wound
past my finger was something quickand terrible, an absence of light,something I had no words for. It was as ifI had been shadowed.
It was as if I had been waiting
to be woken or waiting for sleepto take me, and since then I have wantedonly to be on the other side,whatever side, just not this one. [End Page 178]
Austin Rodenbiker is a poet and editor living in Austin, Texas. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Columbia Review, POETRY, Prelude, Sugar House Review, Hobart, Tin House, and elsewhere.
