Into the Night Through Open Windows
Butterflies are free to fly, fly away, high away, bye, bye. Elton John
On the nights I blew the smoke
of Virginia Slims at the moon,
I wished it would choke the men
who thought they owned it.
Nights I slipped through
open windows, I found my Jesus
in fruit jars juiced red
with Strawberry Hill,
swooning under the orange haze
of dappled lights in empty lots
to Elton on eight-tracks.
The hook of a riff, a lick of longing,
the taste of too-sweet booze,
and a long drag of you’ve come
a long way, baby, lifted me
from my Father’s house.
I was sixteen,
carousing with strangers,
leaning into open car windows,
singing my hymn of praise:
someone saved my life tonight.