Miguel Torres

About

Scribbling poetry on cafe napkins and subway tickets, Miguel Torres weaves intricate verses from the mundane moments of urban life. His childhood home resonates with rhythmic whispers of unspoken stories, each line a delicate exploration of the hidden mysteries that dance between reality and imagination.

Backstory

Whispers from the old radio in his abuela's kitchen first taught Miguel Torres that voices could carry across impossible distances, a lesson that would haunt him years later when his sister Rosa vanished during their annual camping trip to the Sangre de Cristo mountains. The cryptic haiku she left tucked inside her journal—"trains sing lullabies, empty tracks remember feet, silence swallows whole"—became his obsession, each line a breadcrumb leading deeper into mystery. His father, a night-shift archivist who collected banned books and underground poetry chapbooks, had raised Miguel on the idea that every disappearance leaves behind a story waiting to be decoded. Now Miguel writes verses on train platform walls and abandoned buildings, hoping Rosa might find his words the way he found hers, believing that poetry can bridge the gap between the missing and the searching.

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