To Mary Magdalen,
with thanks
savior of pretty girls
slammed into doors
bloodied by steel-toed
boots,
tripping in heels
through the night
retching
memory
into drains
hiding
to scrub filth
from split lips,
certain still, their souls
are unbroken,
(these are the fortunate)
safe from pills
stashed in pockets
they've heard the truth—
love covers a multitude of sins
and there's been plenty
of lovin'
no sense to kill yourself
when you may be redeemed
by tears,
letting down your hair
is easy,
the hardest thing,
to believe there's deliverance
at the feet of a man