VISITS FROM WANDA
I live in a house rented from Wanda’s daughter.
Perfect for Mom and me, and no immediate neighbors.
Wanda cut her own grass and sewed for Thomasville
till she turned 82. She lived with her daughter
only when she had no choice. Then died
the night my cat stood on his hind legs
and followed something around the room with his copper colored eyes.
Months later weeding out by the fig tree
a hand touched my shoulder. I turned
but no one was there. Three days later, the cat
stood again on his hind legs looking into the bedroom.
Last Christmas the mailbox opened and closed by itself.
One of the grandchildren said she saw a light.
On a cold afternoon a coaster levitated a little.
I had the house blessed this spring
and things were quiet for a while.
Then Ari stood up on his hind legs again
looking at the bedroom, a pink shadow on the wall.
One afternoon when I was hemming pants,
the pincushion slid off the table on its own.
I’ve decided I’ll let Wanda come and go when she wants.
I’m not sure there’s anything else I can do.
Bio: Betty O’Hearn is new to the poetry scene but has been studying and writing for two years. In her spare time she ghosts writes for blogs and content vendors. Her professional life has been focused in the information warfare terrorism genre as well as working with a team to train military, government and security professionals who deploy to the Middle East and North Africa. After living on the water in FL for 23 years, she followed her son and family to Hickory, NC. She is a great supporter of thermal underwear which are deployed at 50 degrees. Betty has been published in the Dead Mule of Southern Literature and this is her second appearance in the Wild Goose Review.