You text asking me
to pick up lettuce 
on my way home.

There in produce
I glance over at the flowers 
and remember,
you adore tulips,
love their bright heads
atop crisp uniforms.

Then I recall
your shelf of vases,
all slender vessels,
each waiting.

Standing and gazing 
at the beauty on display, 
I finally hear
your quiet asking.

I pick a clutch of tulips
in tongue pink
to fill an empty vase

and more.