At least twenty-six m&m’s

I ask what’s your favorite word

to strangers at the cafe

and jot them down in the notebook

I had with me the day I met you.

But I don’t want to write this poem

to you or for you or even about you

so I reread the words scribbled

on the page of that blue notebook:

vivacious ergonomic eclectic

hubris brackish kumquat

I play chess with my roommate

and take my dog out in the snow and time passes

too slow.

And I like the part about crying

where I can feel the tears slide down the sides

of my face, dry and red from the cold.

I tell myself some things never change

like the 4-ounce cortados and the stained glass lamp

my grandfather gave me that day I saw him cry.

It gives me just enough light to read a poem before bed.

Before bed, when I cry ugly tears

just like my grandfather and eat

peanut m&m’s one at a time, counting

and then losing track and then wondering

how many peanut m&m’s it would take

to get over you.

But this poem isn’t about you.

Claire Furjanic