Photo Source: Wikimedia Commons Homecoming Ma boycotts my sausage, my faked expertise of unleavened dough. & in lieu of indigestion, errands me in search of pork—for fear of my foreign salt taste. at the mall, a home-grown stink of meat unspool—the way grease from a butcher's slab sweeps me off my feet: a still-life figure to wear mud. & I'm taught to live by this posture, to fit into the chaos of flesh bumping into each other in recycled 'sorrys' . here I am, reduced to this thing full of...