Tattooed trains
“Black dormant iron, black steel whining / a scream of sorrow through every pore.” So begins Pablo Neruda’s early poem Workshops at night, on his childhood relationship with locomotives as the son of a railwayman stationed at the ‘frontera’ of the deep Chilean south. Sometimes, a train is more than a means of transportation. Stories are imprinted across its skin like tattoos intended to be read, by those whose journeys are as textured and flawed as weathered iron horses. Photographs by Sheri L. Wright.
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