There’s something that’s tugging
at me, taking me somewhere. Away
I can’t help but close
my eyes, the ones I am
hardly able to open. I keep leaving.
Going back somewhere else where
the dust is effervescent. A fairy’s
doing. If I just knew her name, if
she knew mine, I would speak starlight
and feel my eyelashes when I blink. But
her name is scattered in colors and I
blow on a dandelion to understand
how that works. I wander behind
closed eyes. My way of staying
away from here, my way
of being dust.



This text originally appeared in Laura Cesarco Eglin's Occasions to Call Miracles Appropriate (The Lune, 2015)

Laura Cesarco Eglin is a Uruguayan poet, translator, and Spanish American literary scholar whose works have appeared in a variety of journals, including Modern Poetry in Translation, MiPOesias, Puerto del Sol, The Acentos Review, Columbia Poetry Review, Timber, Pilgrimage, Periódico de Poesía, and Metrópolis. She is the author of two collections of poetry, Llamar al agua por su nombre (Mouthfeel Press, 2010) and Sastrería (Yaugurú, 2011), and two chapbooks of poems, Tailor Shop: Threads (Finishing Line Press, 2013), co­-translated into English with Teresa Williams, and Occasions to Call Miracles Appropriate (The Lune, 2015). Her poems are also featured in the Uruguayan women’s section of Palabras Errantes, Plusamérica and will appear in América Invertida: An Anthology of Younger Uruguayan Poets, forthcoming from the University of New Mexico Press in 2015.