Miguel

I'm sitting here on the old patio

beside your absence. It is a black well.

We'd be playing, now… I can hear Mama yell

"Boys! Calm down!" We'd laugh, and off I'd go

to hide where you'd never look… under the stairs,

in the hall, the attic… Then you'd do the same.

Miguel, we were too good at that game.

Everything would always end in tears.

No one was laughing on that August night

you went to hide away again, so late

it was almost dawn. But now your brother's through

with this hunting and hunting and never finding you.

The shadows crowd him. Miguel, will you hurry

and show yourself? Mama will only worry.

—César Vallejo (The complete poetry)