Everyone in our family has different ears. My grandma’s ears are like satellites, protruding from her head. And me, my ears are bright and obedient. They don’t need to be told twice. Joel’s ears are lazy. They never follow instructions or commands. And Isaac, who is the youngest, has ears like Grandma’s and Joel’s combined.
But my mother’s ears, my mother’s ears, like little tape recorders, like little therapists all patient and understanding because she listens all day and all night, easy to put your thoughts into when she is holding you, holding you and you feel safe–the feeling when she makes room for you on her side of the bed still warm with her skin, and you sleep near her, the wind outside blowing and the tv still roaring. The roaring, the wind, and mom’s ears that listen like spies.