Bones of Our Dead

Journal entry 30

Evelyn’s bones sit by my left hand, cremated and ground up, held in the urn that we used for her father. I only have one urn so Stan had to move to a muslin bag and now rests in the drawer. Our cat Vashti is curled up in a pine box on the shelf. I compare my collection of bones. Stan’s are darker than Evelyn’s; our cat’s are whiter.

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