Annual Visit

ANNUAL VISIT

At the Krispy Kreme on Person St.

there is a window for more than priests

to peer, unmediated, into the holy 

place, unveiling the interior where every

sweet and good thing finds its origin.  

Once a year we would press our hands

and noses to the glass in a kind 

of upright prostration until a kind 

college student in a paper hat would try 

to explain the how of it: how the dough 

was made, or where the extra icing flows

after every baptism. Even then 

we knew machines could not explain

the mystery. Even then we understood 

the wisdom offered in the word-

less workings: what matters 

here is direction and posture. 

The infinite overflow of glaze

will cover all that moves towards 

it—no questions asked—given 

they lie flat and with an open center. 

For those unwilling to do so, 

the way is flanked with hands to throw

them out.