Of A Moment Poem by Gary Witt

My first memory: the deep scar
There in the trunk of that tree;
The black, flat, heart-shaped mark
Where a steel saw once supervised
An impromptu amputation.
I touched the flat, ragged center,
Unaware of the previous event;
Remembering nothing
Before my small fingers met
That rough-hewn wound.
But after, after that single touch,
Silver, dusty, pungent bark
Would peel off in my hands,
Red and orange crabapples
Lay namelessly on the ground,
Unencumbered by language;
And the wind parted spangled leaves
To allow the sun between.

Returning today to that very place
After finishing some obscure chore
I paused wondering what will be
My last, my final memory;
How long I might carry it,
And whether it will stay
As vivid as the absent limb
From a crabapple tree.