At Pembroke Cafe.

We couldn't even finish our vegan burgers
in peace, and perhaps that was my fault for
holding honesty to such a high standard -
I just wanted to speak from the heart.

Your frustrations, anger and motherly
worry halted as your tear ducts betrayed you.
Crying, not for me but because of me.
Because I decided not to censor myself.
Because I let it slip that she was "more than a friend",
and it's like the whole world as you knew it suddenly
shifted, temperatures plummeted as you gazed at
the compass and willed your feet forward.

But I'm still here, full of warmth,
deserving of so much more than this
emptiness between us.

I wonder if you wish you had a heteronormative
daughter, whatever that means. That I could be a
perfected reflection of what you always wanted for
yourself, a fulfilling partnership with a man who would
never use any excuse to belittle you.

Bitterness drys on my tongue; I have no
guilt nor shame to express.
We've already paid the bill and there's one tiny
pink-and-white cupcake left on the table,
too sweet for something this hard to swallow.
The ballet dancers have completed their weekend
rehearsal, leaping downstairs to their eager parents.
Beautiful limbs are flocking into this cozy,
now cramped, cafe.

Yet here we sit, waiting for each other to
break the silence...
until you confess that you need more time, as if
time will allow you to see another version of me.
A less authentic, more predictable self.
I am here, I am proud, I want to be heard...
finally.

Why are you not willing to take the fear
and reign it in?