oxen guts
If exposed pipes are “oxen guts,” then the city itself is (an? a singular plural?) “oxen.” Which, considering the importance of oxen carts to Brigham Young’s city design (every street wide enough for oxen carts to u-turn with ease), makes sense. It makes even more sense when I think about how the city makes me feel: a pilgrim against my will, always measuring my steps by their distance from the temple, always seeking or straying. I sometimes feel like a piece on a game board, pushed down this street or that alley, driven by an objective or purpose not my own. Every walk through the downtown feels like starting over, the first step toward figuring out this city, this game. It feels like a baptism of sorts, and for the Mormons, baptism and oxen are intertwined. In the temple downtown, believers descend into the basement as if into a tomb. There, they baptize the dead, give them a second chance. A living person stands in for the dead person, and is submerged in a tub balanced on the backs of twelve bronze oxen, each one representing a tribe of Israel. In this metaphor, “oxen,” are we the stand-ins, the walking dead?
