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.