For Brian, Somewhere in Upstate South Carolina by R.S. Williams

For Brian, Somewhere in Upstate South Carolina
 
The hands of the clock meant little to you. 
Rather, they pointed out concepts, made 
suggestions, whispered epiphanies. Your muse:
a last-minute hey-if-you-get-around-to-it 
calling from just beyond a wall of fog. 
But you always showed, and always with 
an offering: books, music, a kind word. 
 
Back left corner: an empty seat.
At graduation, your mother’s bowed
weeping face, your father’s grim silent
nod in my direction across a velvet 
regalia sea. I fumble across the dusty
parquet, and nearly trip on my own
useless funnel of a sleeve.
Double-major diploma, with honors
that you are not here to receive. 
 
Somewhere in upstate South 
Carolina, beneath the cheap tan chenille 
of winter-fallow fescue, you lie 
in a burlwood box. 
 
My heart still drops. 
It may never hit bottom. 

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Bio: R.S. Williams taught college writing for 19 years before starting a new career as a freelance writer-artist-editor. She documents the small things most of us miss: moments when light falls across a wall, a sign, the sky, a face. Her current projects include the photo series For Wes and her debut novel, Songs My Father Barely Knew.

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