Nationalist Opera
It was a party
Built for the miniscule elite
Lost amid acres of scuffed marble, wanderers
Newspapers & schoolwork
People knew
To speak in surreal, mechanical hyperbole
Government, of course
Monuments, behemoths
Of relative luxury
I know what you want to ask
I want you to take the truth to the world
Down in the city, loudspeakers
Disappearing into the hidden gulag
Centuries ago
The monks appeared
Every morning in the lobbies of our hotels
A minder was beside them
The monks followed us out into the parking lot.
by Amada Calderon
from Poetry Magazine, 2014
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