A Green Door Poem by Jacob Ray-Halliday

As Sam prepares us halušky,

he tells me he spoke with the neighbour

who, half-cut and cursing, we hear

through the window laying into a worker.

“His name is Tom, his wife was a nurse,

and our house is built

on a circus…he wasn’t speaking English”

Sam adds, “but said he was from Carlow”.

The history of a house (of anything, really)

told over a wall is dubious,

and yet as steam fills up the kitchen

(and doubles then as central heating)

I cannot help but see white lions

pawing at the wall clock;

brown bears tearing into presses

to see if anything grew;

elephants erecting rickles of faeces

in the utility room.

Before dinner I phone my ma

to find that Tom knows Grandad well,

the wife is definitely née McGrath

but a circus – she hasn’t a clue.

At the sink I dry up after our meal,

looking out at the scaffolding,

the rusted bars flaking light

as the sun sets through a ladder.

Shannon opens the fridge and takes

a slice of ham to the back door.

The black cat with the eye is back.

He wasn’t speaking English

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Jacob Ray-Halliday is an apprentice poet from Carlow, Ireland. His poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Skylight 47, The Madrigal, Horizon Magazine, Abridged, and elsewhere. He is a Poetry Ireland Introductions Series participant for 2025.