Autumn Surrogates

autumn is
a suitable season
for break-ups:

the crinkly swirls of wind-blown leaves

(colored like raspberry ices and
Tropicana coolattas and
mauve sunsets right before dusk)
can take the place of his eyes

(saw the world in those eyes,
didn't you?

the world in all its colors and creases
and sadness and joys).
the warmth of cute and snug jackets

(fur-lined and tight,
stuffy and cozy and sleek with the smell
of new clothes)
can take the place of his arms

(summer-tanned skin

the color of which
you thought you would never forget

that now, for the life of you,
you cannot remember).
the slick, crystal rain

(patters on your car window
like child's footprints,
sprinting through streets

awash in the passing of

Time)
can take the place of your tears

(who knew
that after six stoic years,

tears will still feel the same,
scampering down your cheeks,

hot and wet and lonely,

sad and redeeming).
and
scalding, dark coffee

(taken sitting on a little wooden chair
inside Starbucks,

teeming with the muted smells of people
and coffee beans,
warm and safe)
let the coffee
take the place of your heart.

(no heart,
no heartbreak.)