The Terra Cotta Foyer

We picked the colors for the foyer
very.
carefully.
And off a strip of similarly arranged shades
of red,
I couldn't tell the difference between Venetian Wine
or Sangria or Carmine.
It made all the difference in the world to you.

The paint stuck to the wall, I thought,
whether with vertical or horizontal strokes.
No, up and down! you cried.
I corrected myself and re-coated the patch of wall.
The next day I bought you flowers --
half for you,
half for your walls.
But the color scheme was off.
Still, you took them and offered a vague thanks --
half for me,
half for yourself.

A Cardinal, bold, once ventured into the house
through a stuck-open lower window.
He perched atop a picture frame
fluttering his wings appreciatively,
admiring your sharp eyes and aptitude for visual design,
puffed up his feathered chest
and began to chirp a song (was it our song?).
I couldn't spot him, and figuring he must have been trapped
asked for your assistance.
Your eyes fell to him immediately
as though he was a red amongst whites.
You don't notice much, you said.
I brushed it off with a laugh.
After all, that was back when we knew
we'd have the rest of our lives to notice each other.