Juan Pablo Mobili was born in Buenos Aires, and adopted by New York. His poems appeared, among others, in The American Journal of Poetry, Hanging Loose Press, South Florida Poetry Journal, Louisville Review, and The Paterson Literary Review, in the United States,as well as a number of international publications such as Impspired (UK), The Wild Word (Germany), Hong Kong Review (Hong Kong), Pasaje (Argentina), and Otoliths (Australia). His work received multiple nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, and an Honorable Mention from the International Rights Human Arts Festival. His chapbook,  “Contraband,” was published in 2022, and, most recently, he was the Guest Editor of the Spring 2023 issue of the Banyan Review.

Courage

I celebrate those times a bright ember
pulsated at the center of a great risk,

a mother betting her body
for the sake of her child’s birth,

mothers facing armies for the sake
of their grown daughters and sons,

and Saint Jerome removing
a thorn from the paw of the lion

that entered the monastery,
while every monk fled.

Dowsing for Love

I can’t think of young women
when I was an adolescent
without shuddering

a boy fresh out of confidence,
to break the ice
with an inviting question.

I was thirsty but ill-equipped,
the Y-shaped twig shook 
so hard in my hand,

that I’d miss the water even
if it was the River Nile.
Parched and resentful,

I envied my Moses-like friends
who could ask a sea to part in two
without breaking a sweat.

That’s why, I think, I became a poet,
to study language seriously,
from the lonely corner at a party,

learning to exhale an acceptable line,
longing to be someone, someday,
who could look back 

at his early dowsing failures,
and be grateful for the questions 
I’m beginning to ask.

Old Bones

The new poem is old,
bones the dog dug out before,

even when birds perch on it, 
they fly off before the first verse’s over,

I suspect the past is annoyed 
by my constant visiting,

a church weary 
of bespoke prayers.