the container of her once radiant soul

he kept her music
locked away in a box
like a false truth.
and he opened it
removed its contents,
like passports in a safe,
but they were 
so much more than that.
stained-glass memories
of a different era
that escaped
and faded.

she cooked food that
released his tenseness,
allowed him to laugh
when most would
have cried–
she made his eyes close
but he saw the afterimage
of her brilliant light.

his mother’s voice swelled through
notes, low or high, major or minor
it was the container of her soul–

the soul that now doesn’t remember him,
even though he opens the box of memories
to see her blinding light once more,
now, the voice of his past was broken
and the guitar strings have 
snapped.