Derby Church
Every Sunday morning, I go
to a different kind of church.
One with kneepads to help when you
lose your feet
and mouthguards
to protect your precious words
the questions, the newness.
My derby church is full of
women. Ladies plucked from different lives
and mixed together in the most perfect
patchwork
imaginable. I've never had a close friend
with two kids and a commuter car
I've never had a close friend
with two knee braces and more speed than a drag racer
I've never had a close friend
who bares themselves
muscle and mind
for the sole connecting factor
of the wheels on our feet.
So thank you, derby church.
Thank you for being
a different kind
of kind
thank you for teaching me
about muscles I hadn't known
and skills I hadn't found
and women I hadn't dreamed of
Last night I went to sleep with a tickle in my throat
and a worry in my heart
praying I would not wake too sick to lace up
If I missed practice, it would be a week and a half before my next confession
and I'm realizing
I'm starting to count on it.
Published on the Ann Arbor Derby Dimes blog here.
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