Devil's Food Cake

After your birthday, you vanished.

Maybe when you blew out the candles

the cake inhaled and swallowed

you whole, sucking you through thick

vanilla cream frosting into the devil's food.

Maybe you are screaming to be let out

and no one can hear you through flour,

sugar, eggs, and sour milk.  Maybe

the devil holds your tongue

while you think bloody brown thoughts.

Maybe you are waiting for me to rescue you

with a knife, gently cutting away your prison

crumb by crumb. Maybe you fear growing

stale or getting slopped to the goats.

Maybe you have befriended the devil

and are learning magic tricks inside the cake,

happy with his company and your own thoughts.

Maybe you are chewing tunnels, like an ant farm.

Maybe this was the metamorphosis you always

yearned for, and you are practicing qi gong

surrounded by the perfect porous substance

to make you aware of every decision and move.

Maybe you will pop out of the cake

at a devil convention and shuck your clothes.

Maybe you are gloating, having shook me at last.

Maybe you do not want to come back. 

Maybe you are standing behind me

watching me cry over a cake baked by the devil.

First published in PANK