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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.
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