There used to be bones everywhere.


Pearly white and brilliant.

They broke through during renovations, pushing up through the dirt and we’d brush them off.

Our ancestors.

All around us.

In tea rooms, office cubicles, grocery stores and government buildings.

There were skulls, tibia, racks of ribs, and sternum that we collected and kept in our kitchens and in our classrooms.

Some, were even fixed to open office desk drawers or push grocery carts.

There used to be bones everywhere, but we couldn’t find our names in theirs.

They weren’t really our ancestors.

They were who we pushed into the ground to survive.

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