The First Drag Show Was a Church Service
Holy. Massive. Stiff-collared men dawning
shiny seasonal robes. Stoles and bright tassels.
Hands crossing hearts. Fingers placing flat white
heavens on the tongues of kneeling believers.
Choir crying out for redemption. Or rather
the first church service was
a drag show.
Secret basement affair with code words
and flashing lights. Special marks to show
who was family. A safe place for loving
that divine power made human. Human need
made sacred. Like some strange messenger
could teach us how a moment becomes a
crown. Bow down, sinners.
They sang in the dark. Hiding from lawmakers.
Lifted hands to sky like it might rain men or
wine or fish or men or money or men singing
hymns on the weekend and going back to work
like nothing ever happened. Blessed be this
shimmering illusion. Blessed be this red smoke
ritual. We lay our goats upon your altar, we give
you every dollar and jewel, oh giver of grace
your ceremony, our healing, your pose, our salvation.
Glory. Hallelujah. We are saved.
But it wasn’t until they came out of the darkness,
that the children could believe in magic again.
No one goes hungry at a drag show. The streets
might have beaten you into thinking you are
unworthy of miracles but the ballroom is always here,
honey. Here we pretend that God
created us in her image
and the rest is drag.
© 2023 Lauren Brazzle Zuniga
First posted on Instagram here.