Our Lady of the Back Alleys

Young, and drunk already on your youth,
You think maybe you’ll find religion at the bottom
Of a bottle: head thrown back, eyes to God,
You drink until every streetlight wears a halo,
Until every face, lit sinister in the club’s black lights,
Glows innocent and beatific.

You don’t need Jesus, sweetheart,
You just need to find yourself.

Drunkeness forgives the broken glass,
Turns shards to stars, guttering neon signs
To heralding beacons. Pressed against the brick
Facade, you part your lips the way angels
Spread their wings, magnificent and terrifying;
Your name an invocation on their tongues, whispered
Too close, too close, the dying echo of a last amen,
Lost on it’s way to God.

You don’t need Jesus, sweetheart,
You just need to find yourself.

Under back alley lighting, you are radiant;
The Blessed Virgin beneath her baldachin.
Tomorrow, you will wake beneath the canopy
Of your bed, still doubting; the pounding
in your temples the only reminder
Of where your halo sat too tight.

You don’t need Jesus, sweetheart,
You just need to find yourself.