So on Memorial Day I ended up in the old Civil War cemetery at Poplar Grove.
Until you look at the rows of stones, and realize that way more than half of them aren't "headstones" at all but simply stone blocks with a number carved on them.
There was just some bone, and scraps of cloth, and probably some less savory remnants, to be gathered up and put back in a hole with a stone with a number on it for the following hundred-plus years. An empty chair at a table, an empty peg on a wall where no coat was hung, an empty house to which the scraps of bone and cloth never returned.
U.S. Colored Troops were buried, still put apart from the white soldiers, still separate and unequal in death as in life.