I wove myself a boy of wicker.
Daddy, teach me what to fear.
Matches, ants, and the flail of the rain,
But not while Daddy’s here.

My kindergarten kindling boy,
My whistle at the marrow.
My rustle, my husk, my huggable scarecrow
Who couldn’t spook a sparrow.

I gave him a coat and acorn eyes.
I set him in a chair.
Daddy, patch my wicker elbow
And comb my wicker hair.

Who coaxed him off my porch? The wind,
Grayhaired and stooped and kind.
I should have heard the leaves on the street,
The shudder of the chimes.

This article appears in May 28 2018.

Amit Majmudar is the author of Black Avatar: and Other Essays and Twin A: A Memoir. He works as a diagnostic radiologist in Westerville, Ohio.