Corners

by Laura Cesarco Eglin

To breathe on the third minute
is to have the leg to kick
a pebble down the street toward
the angle of a goal like contingencies
found in every corner of the World Cup.

I open my eyes to the window; the sun
painted in the top left-the morning
also offers light blue with white
ruffles like the foam of the egg whites
making waves before the yolk
blurs the layers of tones in the window

This is how I know the day
exists as day and not
as so many hours.

The vanishing point is the bath plug
in my hand. The water
leaves in eddies; the hemisphere
chooses the direction. Other cowlicks
give growth to hair-I was born with two
knowing the need of a backup
in case of chemo, tie the locks of wool
the knot parallel to the throat. Parallels don't
meet in bald heads.

This repetition is the morning
I needed to return
every corner to part of the ring.

A bunch of spinach also has
nooks. Look how it is pieced together
the intersection points between greens
between different streets
the post starts origins.

In the corner comes together the tendency
of what I sweep.

Laura Cesarco Eglin is a poet and translator from Uruguay. She is the author of Llamar al agua por su nombre (Mouthfeel Press, 2010). Her poems have appeared in journals such as MiPOesias; The Acentos Review (US), Metrópolis; Periódico de Poesía (Mexico), La Farola; TXT. (Uruguay). Her second book of poetry, Sastrería, will be released this October 2011 (Yaugurú). Cesarco Eglin has an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Texas at El Paso and an MA in English from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. She is now a PhD candidate in the Spanish and Portuguese Department at the University of Colorado at Boulder. For more information please visit http://laucesarco.blogspot.com/