The Hollow Monument
Every self is a hollow monument,
an ode to accomplishment, attachment, advancement, and the other virtues of civilization.
Behind each strong facade is fiber glass fillers and paper mache.
A hollow space to be filled with depression or distraction.
Together, we are a marble city,
made tidy by endless sweeping
and the tireless scouring of each surface,
until it all shines right and white.
Some sweepers and sculptors know it is all for show,
but without scripts and statues,
brooms and grooming,
What would we be?
What would we know?
(A poem that I wrote while thinking about Turkmenistan, but also the social construction of the self/mechanisms of social control)