Mine has wings like a moth

        fluttering against the shell of a fruit at


        Shedding dust into nectar, spilling juices

     into soil

To turn to fruit again

Yours beat, acid-laden, life

     a falcon

        Scouring the stillness

          the emptiness

            of a desert



Trying not to fall from the sky

     My hunger is not the same

as your hunger

     For me, it’s chocolate biscuits lasting

longer in the cupboard

     rhubarb-stained fingers

        tracing a recipe

     the other hand pinching butter into flour

For me, it’s a family dinner

     prepared in a warm kitchen

        a blessed iftar

For you, it’s the sharp ledge of your


the spaces between them deepening like

     the shelves of a bare pantry

          a fast that goes beyond dusks and


My hunger

     is not like yours

         My hunger is a pause

     it’s treading lightly under the arc of the


     it’s bracing between new moons

     it’s moving politely through mealtimes

     it’s too easily resolved

Yours is a long day

Every day

     anchoring you to the ground

        clustering in your belly, clinging to your


         heavy in your ears

My hunger is a little pang, a little

     bridge. A tiny task

        I need only say no

           to the things I don’t need

        I need only say thanks

           for the things that I have

as all little things, my hunger grows

     into something bigger

an intention, an invitation

     a prayer

        a promise

           a change, a chance

To one day

     sup with you

(written during the month of Ramadan 2020)