Oatmeal

Getting groceries, we do the usual
asking one another what we thought we needed
pausing by things that looked either good or necessary
stopping a moment to think if this aisle may have an item we need,
then getting corralled out by another shopping cart
piloted by someone with a much more defined sense of purpose than our own.
Other than the grocery store, we don't go to places of this scale often.
I often get a bit caught-up in looking around,
also feeling like you standout from the shoppers
so singular and beautiful, a smile blooming on that most beautiful stem of yours.
I see oats and we need oats, I remember.
I lay the thick metal scoop deep into them, twist once in their light resistance,
watch you walking off for cauliflower or juice.
Outside the radius of my arms in this grocery, you are a woman walking
bright eyes scanning
legs moving on hips turning under clothes stunning.
The oats scuttle into the bag I hold out for them.
I'm so glad I remembered them, so glad I see you right now as I do.