Sometimes elephants appear in my work. I don't think of them as often as I do other animals, like tapirs or rhinos or fish. Or dogs or toads or tree frogs. But they're there, and because they're there, they say things. Elephants have graveyards; they care for their dead. They remember where the bones are, and they visit from time to time. How freakishly "human" we say this is. How freakish. How unlike a "beast without a soul." They remember, like we do, where we put our dead. They visit their boneyards with respect. They remember where they put their ancestors, their children, their loved ones, their mates. How graceful their caring is. Without hands, without maps, without timepieces and literature. They remember their dead.

Detail from a collage by Sheryl Todd: Who Remembers Where the Bodies Are? April 26, 1991