I stand in front of the group,
a twenty-year-old.
Fifty people seated.
What was I, the shy one, going to say?
I looked, nervous, at who they were
looking at, the shy one, the young one
on the dais, on view
without a plan.
And suddenly I was Hydra, I was
the mythic creature, head
chopped off and in its place,
grown, your fifty heads
I said.