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.
The Beginnings of Snow
My mother turns up the collar of my coat, not because it’s starting to snow,
but in order that it may start.
Cesar Vallejo – “The Right Meaning”
My mother knew there was a place
part Camelot’s idyll and part bank’s vault
where her peasant son could own a fur collar
she could turn up on his coat.
It was New York, city of unmerited prosperity,
and obedient snow, a long way off.
The day my mother died I was not there,
it was not yet winter, but far away and cold,
I was still my father’s son, impenetrable like the vault,
my wrists still not strong, my name a blur, still
learning the stranger’s tongue. Alone, turning up
the collar of his coat, an orphan at the mercy of the snow.
The Trapeze
I did not throw caution to the wind,
a gust blew unannounced compelling
me to cling to a trapeze watching
the eager law of gravity predicting
I will not be exempt
from the roll call of the falling
I trembled but did not worry remembering
that a net never helped a fish.
The day after they leave
We are funny, our species
spending our whole lives striving
to be smart, rich, noble at last.
Later in life, let’s say around
the time you have two granddaughters,
you wish you’d be a fool,
as happy as a fool,
that happy.
impspired 