|
Aurora Antonovic |
|
Floor Art I need to buy a rug from the salesman my decorator recommends so, dutifully armed with wallpaper samples, fabric swatches, a cushion from my leather sofa, I enter the shop He does not understand, he shows me boring beiges, ordinary blues His father, clearly irritated, asks what is wrong with you? look how she is dressed, the things she has brought she loves colour! He knows, he understands! He points me to vivid maroons, swirling jade greens, dramatic blacks and golds, I touch the rugs as though they are living things, in love with art for my floor I argue the size with son and decorator, at my house, they see I am right -- the father knew all along Why argue with her? he asks, she's an artist, she knows We make the exchange, the son says, I have to know, if possible, would you go out with me? I look up, and catch his father's eye Not with you, I say, but maybe with your father The older man laughs and winks -- he knows, he understands that my foyer floor won't be happy unless it's covered in red |