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.