Fall Again
by Katharine VanDewark Katharine VanDewark

Katharine VanDewark was born in Baltimore, Maryland, and lived a bicoastal life as a child. Moves were regular—every three years—with final settlement in Southern California, where she graduated from the University of California, Santa Barbara, with a BFA in painting. She has been a fine art photographer and dancer, and has been writing poetry since the 1980s. She hosts a monthly writing group in her living room and seeks out open mike nights to read her poetry and hear that of others.

Her work has been published in the Poetry in the Garden anthology and in Coracle. She is grateful for the guidance and instruction she received from Regina O'Melveny, Peter Levitt, Jeff McDaniel, Jack Grapes, and Suzanne Lummis.

Once again the moon is full.
September is ending.
Windows are open,
doors are open—
neighbor noise.
Wind died an hour ago.
Cruise ships may or may not
be entering and leaving the port

Friday night people
carry out high heel plans
bars concerts restaurants
dressy tank tops
instead of cotton
snug around breasts
and torsos
large and small.

They get into cars with
boyfriends wives
clinky bracelets cell phones
perfume baggy pants baseball hats

dogs yap at the leaving
decisions are made
on the way out
"Whose car are we taking?"
"Don't drink too much"
"Have fun"

Two blocks away
the siren begins

On the sofa arm
in diminishing light
four feet away

from the flowering orchid
the cat licks black fur

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