At the train station in Santiago, I turn away
from the disdainful faces of those who judge me,
while all around us, families embrace, reunited.
Joyful cries, food vendors, the rush of porters
carrying luggage . . .
I stand alone, waiting, until finally I see a carriage
with fancy horses, a driver in his elegant uniform,
and a valet who helps a wealthy man
step down
to search
for the person
he’s meeting.
He’s wrapped in luxurious furs.
Could this be the rich man who received
my letter of introduction?
When we are the only two people left
on the platform, he approaches me
and asks if I might happen to be
the famous Rubén Darío,
el niño poeta.
Yes, I’m the celebrated Poet Boy
but what does that even mean
now that I’m a grown man of nineteen?
My childhood verses were just practice
for the way I plan to write now, whenever
a stranger judges me as anything less
than an angry hive filled
with the hopeful bees
of equality.