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2005 03 30
Union Station-Part 1
imageWe listened to the trains from our bed. Always your body next to mine, as the sound of that long shadow moved through its corridor of blackness, crossing the city. The trains cut through bedrooms and back yards, through heat and snow, sleep and sleeplessness. Often we were already awake and imagined the number of boxcars, and what they carried - as the months went by, ever more exotic cargo. We imagined all the towns brought into boom by the laying of the rails, all those that gradually vanished because the rails passed them by.

On summer nights we lay in your dark garden, limbs still hot in the impossibly cold grass, as the whistle found its way to us, through the sound of the leaves, through moonlight. Weaving through the summer night neighbourhood noises of air conditioners and barking dogs, shouting games and night tag, and the metal lids of trashcans circling the sidewalk as raccoons cast them aside with one swipe of a paw. Every night the trains came, passing straight through that particular empty station of the heart, where some part of us longs to follow and is left behind.
[email this story] Posted by Anne Michaels on 03/30 at 08:16 AM

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