Happy Days

We would ride in grandma's car

where happiness was like silk,

more soothing than her touch.

Brown leathered hands molding love.

Here my sister would see in color.

Vibrant yellows glowing with laughter and joy,

reds bursting like red cherries,

our voices stained the air with tints of blues and greens.

Gleaming as she danced her happy dance,

little hands clapped to the beat of the roads behind us.

So happy we were colorful.