For those who are fortunate enough to become a Saint, or perhaps if you manage to become famous enough, your final resting place is preserved, visited, cared for. If however, you have the unfortunate fate of being a poor person (most likely a poor black person) buried in a neighborhood cemetery in New Orleans, your bones get washed into the street after a heavy rain. Such was the case with this jaw bone, delivered to me by a friend who felt it was unkind to leave it in the mud for a wild dog.

The inequality that likely haunted this person throughout life, took no rest when they died. Before returning the remains to the authorities I took a mold of the jawbone for a series of pieces to honor this person, whomever they were, whatever their status or race. I hold that saints are no more to be celebrated than sinners, that wealth and fame is not the same as value, and that the color of skin matters little when we all end up as bleached white bone.