Driving home from the airport

poem I wrote after riding with my dad

Driving home from the Airport

Last night we drove.
Droplets slanting to the windshield,
wipers scraping the water to flood
the hood.
The water slowed—
rain thinned.
The sun peered through
the gray mass.
I pointed out a rainbow,
a transparent spectrum,
with red and blue
that laid the sky for the evening.
Colors filtering
together.

Dad, you looked,
eyebrows arched at
my observation,
then pointed out a second,
pastel colors of light fading
into the cobalt sky.
I thought about your vision,
your discrimination.
I wondered if the sun broke
the clouds to greet you,
allowing you
to deepen my observation,
teach me a new lesson,
to sharpen my sight.