In a nanosecond David lost his thumb,

the one his mother painted

with pine pitch when he was four

to keep him from forever sucking it.

Unable to distinguish human flesh

the McCormick silo filler

sliced it off—

nail, bone, knuckle—

and blew it skyward

an ounce of humanity

in a thousand tons of silage.

Taken by surprise

David suppressed the truth.

Before the rush of blood

he held up the stump

saw the clean cut

grey bone marrow visible

and thrust it in his mouth

where the memory

of childhood security lay.

Then he swore,

tears rushing to his eyes, and ran

holding the stump with his good hand

blood oozing between his fingers.

Joe, a huge bulk of a man

and a constant neighbor,

jumped from his wagon

caught David like a child

held him to his chest

not intimidated by blood

or the tears of a grown man.

From the Wrinter’s Almanac.