Meeting Her Mother on Her Birthday

We’re vegan girls—her mom’s greasy meat,

you brushed my wrist and

heartburn,

your smirk said don’t you dare retreat,

I swallowed all shame and

my burn.

She sliced stinky pig with pearls and pride.

You licked your lips just

red wine,

beneath the cloth, our thighs unsatisfied—

her raw tofu, just wet—

all mine.