This
          the shoebox where I live
the shoebox where my father lives.
Two left shoes.
 
­––When I was a little girl I wanted to be an artist, a vet, or an astronaut.
––I wanted to be an architect (she looks at me disbelieving).
My dad sometimes took me to the construction site on
Saturdays. I loved it. One day I asked him what his job was.
He told me that the architect (the first time I’d heard this word –
it immediately sounded important, like archduke)
would imagine a building and it was his job simply to make sure
it didn’t fall down. To earn a living imagining places seemed extraordinary
to me. Nothing like my father’s dull job. The imaginary
places would take shape on the page. And that is what I dedicated
my childhood to: drawing him skyscrapers and huts.
 
My father’s job is to make sure they don’t fall down.