Picture Poem

By Beverly Sherwood

I sent pictures to my nephew of fifty years.

Told him: Rocky Mountains

        must be seen and touched to know the grandeur.

Explained: the awe of the approach from the east and the

        sadness of departure.

He sent pictures of the town I left before his birth:

Trees burning in autumn color;

A lone building (JOSHUA PHOTOGRAPY);

At the Old Folks' Home, althea

        fully clothed in purple;

The sky in rolling shades of gray then

        tree trunks split by the storm;

Bold black numbers 9 and 78 on vertical white its

        metal post bent with the traffic flow;

The town's one mansion;

The new high school.

        The radius of his travels.

End