Ears
by Maiana Minahal
My mother’s stories wearied me
so I cut off my ears.
I clipped them onto the clothesline in the backyard
next to the wet socks and flapping underwear.
My mother hummed herself a romantic tune at the kitchen sink.
The noon sun burnt the ears.
They stiffened into leathery strips of salted fish.
My mother stopped speaking.
* * *
This piece originally appeared in Issue 8, Eleven Eleven Journal of Literature & Art on 2008-2009.
Maiana Minahal is a queer femme who was born in Manila, grew up in the Los Angeles area, and then made home and community in the Bay Area for twenty-five years. She is currently based in Honolulu as assistant professor of English and writing at Kapi‘olani Community College, and lives part-time in New York City with her partner. Author of the poetry collection Legend Sondayo (2009), her work has been included in the journals 580 Split and eleveneleven journal (2010), and in the anthologies Screaming Monkeys (2003) and Take Out (2000). An interdisciplinary performing artist, Minahal is cofounder of the queer Pin@y artist group, Kreatibo; past finalist in the Astraea Foundation’s Lesbian Writers Fund Poetry Contest; and former director of the multi-ethnic poetry program at UC Berkeley, Poetry for the People.
