confetti, image by Golda Falk, on Pixabay
I’m ready to give myself up,
I come out with my hands
high in the air
and see what wants to blossom,
what needs to finally take a deep breath.
They Told Me My Mother Went to Heaven,
but I knew she was likely to be late,
that she’d stop at a beauty parlor first.
— who’d want to meet God
with chipped polish on her nails
from hanging for dear life.
Now in the News
Some of my molecules are still bidding farewell
while the new recruits rush in to take over,
I note on my calendar those dates before the joy
or the tragedy, before the whisper in my head
became deafening, impossible to ignore, happiness
and sadness deserving their own particular confetti
falling on our hair, easy to brush off because it’s light,
and harder to forget because of its stubbornness.
The engineer studies the wind
and designs a bridge that will last forever.
I envy the bridge, born to be tough and elastic,
ready for what drives over its back.
I wonder if the bridge forgets the burden
of rush hour or enjoys the light flow
when most cars remain at home and
children learn to do cartwheels in their rooms.
I envy the engineer who chose to be a student
of the rigidity and flexibility of steel.
I know I will never be a bridge
and it’s too late to become an engineer,
but I choose to keep my eyes open
when the wind turns from breeze to gust,
my spine willing to bear the heavy traffic, firm
and supple like the kid doing cartwheels.
Juan Pablo Mobili was born in Buenos Aires, and adopted by New York. His poems appear in Spirit Fire Review, The American Journal of Poetry, The Worcester Review, The Banyan Review, Monoliths (Australia) and Impspired (UK), among many others. His work received an Honorable Mention from the International Human Rights Art Festival, and has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and the Best of the Net, in 2020
and 2021. His chapbook, Contraband, was published in April, 2022. Learn more about his chapbook at: Contraband - The Poetry Box