july14-prune-juice-final-version2

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Chase Gagnon, US
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Alaska
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In the fall we slept in old boxcars to keep warm and shelter ourselves from
the snow, as we were pulled far out into the tundra by dreams that whistled
at caribou in the distant reach of their warm light. The lumber mill was
about an hour north of Anchorage. It was so dark out there you could see
the glow from the city in the southern sky like a faint and motionless aurora,
with unseen life dancing through the night below. But once the boxcar
door closed, it was just darkness. No stars, no moon, no Anchorage in the
distance. Just the thought of another man in our bed and the somewhat
warm floorboards beneath my sleeping bag.
"
marijuana smoke
wafting through the darkness —
I warm my hands
with a friend's lighter
and think of you
"
!22