We came for donuts and somehow ate with God. 

You and me, we have always
come to church for donuts.
And when we count the bells
we think of bear claws
and breaking open the light
sugar--chalk dust-- write
in the red jelly that might
have once been a fruit.
Weren't you scared it was blood.
So I asked my mother why
the bread and the wine didn't
actually look like body and 
blood and she told me that
to some people it did--
and I was scared of it.
Did you break the Boston cream
like bread? Did you find that
the inside was hollow like
Easter and were you looking
for lemon filling?
The chrism was crusty like glaze
and I never felt so full
and so guilty and so fried.
It's nice to walk away from 
an altar and know that even 
after it all we can still
serve oily dough together-- sit and
circles and pretend like
we didn't see anything. We
have all been Peter-- and by
the time the cock crows we have
already ready denied that
we eat donuts after crucifixions.
On occasion I have sat at the far table
where God sits and does Suduko
puzzles while we all make small talk--
he doesn't ask if I listened to
the Gospel according to Luke
or if I remembered to
kneel at the right time or
if I forgot to say the last 
line of the creed-- he asks
why I eat plain donuts.
God eats chocolate-iced donuts with 
rainbow sprinkles just
like my little brother. He
says that they remind him
that not everything has to be
so serious.
I tell him that they taste
like a home I've made up 
in my head. They taste like
the hands of my mother
across the room-- they taste
like safety-- like caves
and like empty tombs. You
are never disappointed in
a plain donut and they always
taste vaguely like
the donut that was seated besides
them in their little cardboard pews.
He asked me again if I liked
plain donuts or just the idea of
them. I denied him
three times before I told him
the truth that I preferred
donuts with the holes already 
cut into them and donuts
without powder to get on my
nice black dress and donuts
without glaze that always left me
feeling like confession and
donuts without cream and fruit
that remind me so much of
our bodies. He told me he understood.
He said he was glad that
someone ate the plain donuts--
he said his son liked coconut cream
donuts and his spirit was always 
in the mood for powdered--
I laughed and said that they
must of been who got
the white powder on my dress.