The red, worn, warm brick house
stood like a heart
at the end of the street

A destination
for cellophane wrapped
Little Debbie cakes
and frail but firm hands
holding mine

A hole in the world
into which I could slip

A house I could wear

Julie Ayers
July 2011


About Julie Ayers

Seasoned apocaloptimist, keen admirer of well-placed words, fierce mama bear of extra special children, black belt hugger, and advocate for a fashion rebellion which elevates the most human of hearts to socially acceptable outerwear.

4 responses »

  1. Thanks. I wasn’t sure if this was universal enough. Sure sustained me during childhood, to have a place like that to pedal to on my bike — it was my Great, Great Aunt LaLa’s house.

  2. fine and beautiful, with a good and interested first line; and by a good ending too as:a house I could wear.” zia

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