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.