Where I grew up, outside of Boston, there were a few family-owned donut shops. Pete’s Donuts was on Ferry Street, and the fragrance wafted out, especially when we walked by after school or church. We usually didn’t have the coins required to buy the donuts, but when we were older, it was a destination. My Gram never wanted us to buy donuts, though, and so it was always a secret. Years later I married and lived right in the back of Pete’s, my kitchen window opened to the early morning smell of breads and yeasts… and I found out that My Aunt met my Uncle Paul at this donut shop.
Pete’s Donut Shop
Mornings at five AM fragrance of rising
dough ascended through open windows
express from Pete’s Donuts back door
to my kitchen. A fence separated us
from jelly, honey glazed, and cinnamon.
When we were kids we’d sneak to Pete’s
after school to buy donuts when our parents
weren’t looking. It was dicey, dangerous business,
visiting the donut shop. We knew that’s how
Aunt Zabel & Uncle Jack met when she went
to the donut shop, that’s why they married so young.
Cousin Liz was proof of what came from the donut shop.