Angel Cake
By Yvonne Moss
I was very young, remembering Mama bake,
For every need she deemed apropos,
She baked a Angel cake.
Of our Kansas family, only she who might,
Make this fickle cake to rise
And have it turn out right.
With the War upon them, food supplies supplies were poor.
When Mama’s meager coupons dwindled,
She’d run to my aunt’s door.
Each ingredient she used had to be just so
And too, the temperature, humidity and altitude
Must cooperate, you know.
She’d beat the eggs whites with skilled and loving care.
Then add the flour, sugar and salt,
And a bit of vanilla, there.
Into the “holy” pan the thick, white batter went.
Why a hole was there, she would say,
“My dear, it has to vent.”
As it baked, its blissful aroma filled our lungs.
This soft cake of sweet, sticky sponge,
A favorite on our tongues.
As kids, we were grateful for this cake on which we chowed.
But, not the effort that it took to make,
Nor time or cost allowed.
Yet, for every occasion deemed exceptional,
Mama baked for those she loved,
Whether to celebrate or console,
With a heavenly Angel cake.