The Lady Who Lived in a House

By Julie Gunsaulis

There was an old lady who lived in a house, and many a time, I sat on her couch. 

I drank her black coffee when I was three.  

It reminds me of her now, so I prefer tea. 

She made blueberry pancakes on her little white stove 

And harbored endless supplies of fresh bread and Oreos 

Our adopted Grandma – that’s what we called her  

Because she wasn’t related to my mother or father 

I still remember dream-filled naps on her bed 

And the gentle way she used to pat my head 

She was going to be at my wedding; my baby shower, 

Wielding a blanket made with hours upon hours 

Of knitting in that green recliner 

With her grumpy tabby curled up beside her. 

She was at my sixteenth birthday, 

All auburn curls and plenty to say 

I hadn’t thought her time might be near, 

But you never do with the ones you hold dear. 

Now there are strangers who live in her house, and never again will I sit on her couch. 

Julie Gunsaulis is currently a junior at the University of Arkansas, studying social work. She’s from a tiny town in Oklahoma called Perry. It has a population of 5,000 people and has more cows in residence than humans. She has always loved the arts and found writing to be an area where she could give life to the things she manifests. She waxes poetic in her head constantly, and although most of it is awful, she has sometimes thought that what she thinks is worth writing and puts it down on paper.