When I broke my fast

peanut butter performed a minor exorcism.

Sat upon its stainless-steel throne before backing hunger into its cage.

I licked the spoon, and my tongue recited its everlasting presence on my breath.

In childhood, my grandmother taught me how to repeat the miracles of this spread. 

Like a sura, peanut butter wards off the evil I contain when I am not fed. Before Fajir 

after Maghrib, peanut butter to protect this vegetarian’s head. One taste and I can focus again.

Two scoops, and I drift into a brief heaven. Peanut butter encompassing my afterthoughts

swirl it with some warm honey and toast, then technically even sorcery can’t alter my vibe.