Aquarelle

Frosting on an angel cake

Orange as I remember it

that comes to me

with the simple flashes

of her complete kitchen

I don't know how many

she made over the years

two or three I seem to recall

birthdays mostly

as they were

special creations

No boxed cakes for her

always crack the eggs

to separate the yokes

for a later zabaglione

so thick to spoon

with a light flavor

of Marsala

certainly yellow

They could be painted

together beside my

Mother's hand

on translucent paper

as if clouds pass

between her in heaven

and a tall fluffy cake

with the lightest odor

of an orange orchard

beside a gallon

of eggs whipped

with fresh air

in a wine infused dream

Barry G. Wick