Peanut Butter

I bought peanut butter today.  
Buying peanut butter is nothing new.
I love the sticky smooth feeling as it moves through my mouth,  
The way it lingers a moment longer than I might want it to, how that takes me back
To memories of beach parties 
with my big brother, 
how I proudly made lunch for him:
two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, 
crunchy peanut butter and strawberry jelly, 
carefully spread from edge to edge, corner to corner
So the jelly wouldn’t make everything soggy
as we sat in the sun.
Four slices of bread, without tearing it at all, a major victory when spreading crunchy peanut butter.  

I bought peanut butter today.
Not in a jar, with a top that screws on tightly
Or a container to grip between fingers to open, or press firmly down to close.
Creamy peanut butter, in a tube with a flip top, like toothpaste,
I can flatten and squeeze from the bottom.
When I make my sandwich, it will try and stand proudly
Next to my squeezable grape jelly
Peanut butter from a tube, I spread on bread
Neatly from corner to corner, and slice into two perfect triangles.
The sandwich mocks me, the peanut butter rancid, the grape jelly bitter not sweet. 
Sticky smooth peanut butter lingers in my mouth again,
Tasting like sadness and loss, anger and grief
As my withering, damaged hands and fingers can no longer open the jar.