My anonymous hour

Sarah White

opens with a prayer 

 in prose（在散文）. I rise: "Hello, 

 I'm Sarah, and ... 

 I'm a poet."

Hello, Sarah. 

"I had an anniversary—

 six months without a line." 

Applause. "But you know 

 how it goes—

                     I wrote a verse 

 about an adolescent 

 girl I know (her wanton 

 clothes). I called it "Schmatta"

 and thought it might amuse 

 her mom and dad 

 but they were hurt." 

Have you made amends 

 to those you harmed? 

 I explain my e-mails, 

 and sit down. 

Others stand, 

 admit to gains 

 and losses in their fight 

 against the muse（沉思，冥想）. 

We close, schmooze a bit, 

 depart. The pavement's 

 full of gaps. 

Some of us will slip.