Robin Lee Mozer


You are reading tonight and we have come to listen.

We have left our kitchens with dishes crowding the sink, and our living rooms with half-done loads of laundry scattered on the floor to come here and listen to your New Novel, the one you've been working on since the last one, because you do not read often and we know you and we like you and we want to be supportive. We arrive promptly at 7:00, or maybe just ever so late, but it's widely understood that readings that are advertised for 7:00 will always start at 7:30, so at 7:30 we politely seat ourselves near the makeshift stage at the intimate wine bar, or the lectern in the library auditorium, or the music stand in the student recital hall -- close enough to seem interested, but not too close -- and you step up to your stage or your lectern or your music stand and you begin. You are reading for we who have come to listen, for we who may or may not have forgotten to feed the cat, and you seem to know that we are thinking of our cat and not your New Novel because suddenly you are reading about sex.