Baking a Cake In Auntie's Kitchen

While my Aunt Rusha and momma chatted on the front porch swing that afternoon I slipped into Auntie’s kitchen to bake a cake. How hard could it be, I thought— a little of this and a little of that, mostly flour, as I recall, and other white stuff from her pretty cannisters. My cake mixed up quite well, but I needed some liquid to hold it together, like oil, I believe Auntie used, like the oil in the squirt can atop the frig. That should do the trick, but I could barely reach it, and the chair I was standing on slipped just as I poured in the precious oil only to come tumbling down on my diaper-clad bottom! The clatter got their attention. By the time they got to the kitchen I was running home as fast as I could through the cornfield. Auntie told the story a hundred times and always added, “If he hadn’t used the machine oil, I could have baked a pretty good cake.” written June 4, 2021 submitted to "A Tender Moment from Childhood" poetry contest sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury