My dad
is taller
than the smallest kids’
dads.
My dad
is taller
than any kid’s
dad.
Dad
puts me up
on his shoulder.
Dad
raises me high
on his shoulder.
From Dad’s shoulders,
the outline of the steppe
is clear,
like it’s in my open palm.
The flower-filled steppe,
the turquoise river.
In the distance, camels and cows.
And then,
a camp.
In the valleys,
herds of sheep.
Beyond that,
a man on a horse.
Far away,
a loaded cart.
The people
look like gold dust.
I ask
Dad,
“Dad,
Dad!
How come
you’ve gotten so tall?”
Dad says
to me,
“I’ve gotten so tall
so that I can show
my kids
these distant, distant shapes.”