Absences by Donald Justice It's snowing this afternoon and there are no flowers. There is only this sound of falling, quiet and remote, Like the memory of scales descending the white keys Of a childhood piano—outside the window, palms! And the heavy head of the cereus, inclining, Soon to let down its white or yellow-white. Now, only these poor snow-flowers in a heap, Like the memory of a white dress cast down . . . So much has fallen. And I, who have listened for a step All afternoon, hear it now, but already falling away, Already in memory. And the terrible scales descending On the silent piano; the snow; and the absent flowers abounding.
Claire Thompson
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