Cake

I am ten watching Grandma
Ming’s bake a cake at her
House on North Anna Street,
She places on the kitchen counter
Flour butter vanilla eggs cold milk
Dark unsweetened chocolate
Which she combines without
Measuring into a bowl which
I get to beat with a wooden
Spoon until my arm aches
While she combines the
Sugar with other items
To make a sweet icing
Which I get to beat
Until I can not any
Longer feel my
Arm or move
It as she
Takes
The two
Cakes pans
From the oven
Onto cooling grills.
By the time I can move
My arm again she has iced
The cake with frosting while
I get to lick both the cake
Batter spoon and bowl
As well as the frosting
Bowl and butter
Knife alone
With my
Grandma
In her kitchen
Smelling the odors
Of bacon bread corn
On the cob and ham all
Of which hang in the
Air along with some
Spices and now
The aroma of
Cake which
I expect to
Be white
But is
To my
Surprise
Golden yellow
With chocolate
Icing to be eaten
That night for dessert
When everybody
Comes home
Sitting down
Together
Around
The kitchen
Table while in
The air hangs the
Faint odor of coal mixed
With fresh lumber from the
Lumberyard across the street and years of heating the house with
A coal heater now replaced
By a gas one which is
Not as much fun
With no cinders
For me to haul
Out back in
The dark
To the
Alley.
I am
At home
At Grandma’s
House in West
Frankfurt Illinois
And safe and
Sound with
Grandma.