Donut Shop

by Camilla Jean Welsch

I was cold

when I entered the shop
before school

on a dark Halloween morn.

The doorbell clanged

and I was overcome,


the powdered sugar

from jelly donuts on the shelf,

and eyed

that festive orange frosting

resting softly
behind the glass.

You stood at the register

like a mouthful of sugar

amidst the warm baking mix,

with your clear complexion

and glossed black hair,
slick and combed to the side.

But it was late in fall.

You should have been at school.

Why weren’t you at school?

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