world map, image by Prawny, on Pixabay
What Happens in the Woods
The hawk perches
on the wheel of the bicycle
abandoned in the woods.
I wonder if he thinks
it is a throne or the nest
of a species
he never hunted for,
curious about what bird
would have her children
rest on rust, or build
such a hard home
so close to the ground.
No one knows
what happened to the rider
but the frame
covered with moss
tells an old story,
years since the wheel
spun or the hawk
was old enough to fly alone.
I prefer to imagine
that whoever rode the bicycle
went on to a better life.
The alternative is frightening.
I wish the rider were a hawk too,
determined to spread his wings
and leave the past behind.
Atlas of My World
Among the things that I can’t find,
I seemed to have misplaced the atlas of my life,
except for a map that only depicts my mother.
Her passion is bright yellow, the tone of
what happened is opaque, and her childhood’s
a small province within a huge empire.
I am the small island near the shore where
she stood missing me. It’s hard to tell my color
since it changes as I become less self-involved.
The beaches to the North are rockier with regrets,
but in its small forest, I can hear
my mother sing.
Juan Pablo Mobili was born in Buenos Aires, and adopted by New York. His poems appear or will
be appearing in The American Journal of Poetry,
Hanging Loose Press, South Florida Poetry Journal, Louisville Review, Impspired (UK), The Wild Word (Germany), and Otoliths (Australia), among others.
His work received an Honorable Mention from the International Human Rights Art Festival, and multiple nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His chapbook, “Contraband,” was published in 2022, and he’s the Guest Editor for The Banyan Review’s
Spring 2023 issue.