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16 pages 32 minutes read

Natalie Diaz

No More Cake Here

Fiction | Poem | Adult | Published in 2012

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Themes

Family is a House

The setting for “No More Cake Here” is a house, referred to intermittently by its parts. While ultimately, there are “ninety-nine of us” (Line 28) in the house, the speaker specifically identifies their brother, “Mom and Dad” (Line 10), and the “brothers and sisters” (Line 18) who are not the deceased. The “firemen” (Line 6), the “clowns” (Line 21), the “stray dogs” (Line 30), the “mariachi band” (Line 32), the “magician” (Line 33), and the “mutants” (Line 45) are not part of the family, but are there because of the party.

The house is the seat of all family activity, and contains all. The metaphorical balloons of trauma may rise, but the ceiling will keep them from floating away entirely. The house expands to accommodate its inhabitants, allowing everyone to be in the kitchen with a finger “in the mixing bowl” (Line 29). This is intimate space. If you’ve been let in, you’re family. The bathroom and hallways will always be crowded, and someone will slice you a piece of cake.

The wrapping of the electronics calls attention to the ordinary spectacle that occurs inside a home when someone affected by drugs plays out drug-induced obsessions within the home, “tak[ing] apart and put[ting] back together (Line 42) that which is readily available within the house. The brother is “a magician of sorts “ (Line 44), performing on the home stage.

The idea of the domestic and home takes an even darker turn with the mention of the cooking utensils in the brother’s “basement bedroom” (Line 48). His “horrible” (Line 55) cooking is not nutritious home cooking, even if its purpose is to satisfy a hunger. The basement, below ground, suggests a dark place separate from the rest of the house. This part of the house is not a gathering space, but a place of isolation, where the brother makes and consumes drugs.

Let Them Eat Cake, or Not

Who gets cake and who doesn’t is a very deliberate choice in “No More Cake Here.” While the title’s syntax states plainly that there is no cake to be had, what the speaker is actually saying when she tells the dogs and the mutants that there is no cake, is that there is no cake for them. They are not part of the ninety-nine invitees who participated in the making of the cake—even if it was only to dip a finger in the batter for a taste— and they are not welcome.

The dogs are hungry and agitated, a state of being that is unwelcome at this celebration. Common misery has no place at this event. Likewise, the zombielike humanoids who arrive at the front door come with their hands out, asking after the brother’s wares and mooching cake without being offered. They notice a piñata, which would typically be filled with candy, but the speaker is offering nothing sweet to these two. She runs them off by telling them God is in the piñata. The speaker gives her father a piece of cake, and saves a slice in the freezer for her mother.

The cake is the sweet taste of relief that the cycle of pain and distress for an addicted brother and his family is ended, via that brother’s death. Not everyone is entitled to a piece, according to the speaker. Some, like the speaker’s mother, is not able to enjoy it, as she is worn out from sorrow. The brother cannot have any cake because he is alive and living under the weight of addiction, and therefore there is no cake except in the speaker’s imagination.

Love & Loss & Everything In Between

In the earlier referenced “New American Poets” feature in Poetry Society of America, Diaz referred to “No More Cake Here” as “that horrible poem,” allowing the term horrible to signify the kind of horror that can come from uncovering a great truth. She continued:

Uncovering the darkness in me that led to some of the poems about my brother also lights up the hard, bright way in which I love him.

The darkness includes all the contradictory feelings that accompany, but do not diminish, the love of a sibling for their brother. When the speaker of the poem has their parents blow up red balloons in order for them to “let go of” (Line 13) the cyclical trauma that becomes the rhythm of an addicted person’s life, the parents are imagining a lifting of their sorrow—it is not a letting go of the love they feel for their son, but a release from the terrible predictability of catastrophe. Love and loss—the ultimate loss, death—are bookends, in some stories, to struggle and sustained pain.

The party of the speaker’s imagination is not just for the living, but for their brother, as well. The speaker bakes his “favorite cake” (Line 27). There is yet sweetness in the memory of him. The gut-punch of the end delivers a double whammy—neither the brother nor the speaker express happiness that the brother is alive. The reader has been set up for a celebration, no matter how crowded and surreal, and instead, there is only the probability of more of the same, with little hope of anything resembling victory. The battle with addiction rages on.

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