There is Always Another Slice of Cake

Jane has a secret

she cannot tell anyone.

So she runs.

Jane hates running.

She runs to punish herself

and to forget.

It does not work.

Jane bakes and eats.

She buries the words

inside her under cookies,

stuffs her hollowness

with brownies.

It doesn’t work either.

She just feels disgusted

with herself.

Jane throws up.

Afterwards, the shame

is worse than before.

Jane doesn’t talk to anyone.

She runs. She eats.

The words that can’t get out

eat her from the inside.

She tries to silence them.

There is always another slice of cake.


Snake Plant 

During the day,

Jane is an accountant.

She drives a car

with good gas mileage

and wears sensible shoes.

The snake plant on her desk

has shiny hard leaves

and needs to be watered

only once a month.

It’s the only thing in her office

that isn’t beige.

At night, Jane writes

in a room with orange walls

and tie dye pillows.

Most of her poems

end with silence.

The silence is so loud

it is painful.

Some of her poems

end with hope.

Jane does not really

believe in hope,

but if you speak

of something often,

perhaps you can

make it come true.

Agnes Vojta grew up in Germany and now lives in Rolla, Missouri where she teaches physics at Missouri S&T and hikes the Ozarks. She is the author of Porous Land (Spartan Press, 2019) and The Eden of Perhaps (Spartan Press, 2020), and her poems have appeared in a variety of magazines.