The Door Is Open

A poem by Jal Nicholl

Into the liquid earth
Where animals go in single file
Hand carved in Africa
And mass produced in China
As toward an ark
The tiers of potted plants recede
Dark as the light of the setting sun is blinding
Pupil of the wave’s eye seen full face
So that the train goes upside-down
Skidding stone-like over trackless water
And looking down as from a balloon basket
Unmelting ice sculpture in a display case
Whose lateral dimensions match exactly those
Of the cuboid pit, the practice hole turned real
About fifty thousand leagues below it
Whose eyes roll back as the picture plane rolls forward


Jal Nicholl publishes mostly in Australian journals and magazines. More recently he has published pseudonymously in Terror House and on the Expat Press website. He is working on his first collection, Oyster Mountain, to be published by Expat. He is a high school teacher in Victoria, Australia.

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