I slip into a silk dress 
$5 tag itching my back  
but appearances count 
because your mom still can’t  

        accept me or rather 
                us  

A bistro selling goat cheese paninis  
& overpriced iced coffee- nothing we could 
afford, which is how your mom guilts us 
into coming   
 
“Are you both planning on wearing dresses?” she asks 
sipping bitter tea. “How does this work?” 
        As if we are not a couple, but an experiment 

I excuse myself, wipe my makeup until mascara 
streaks down my cheeks, until that dress 
is wrinkled as the skin of a sea lion 
until I am everything I promised not to be: 
unpresentable, attention grabbing, whatever 
        bullshit your mom says