It was a class for women only,

women in the same church

honing their bodies for husbands

who told them God said

it was good to be fit,

and ever since birth control,

women could be.

So every Tuesday morning

they followed a church-approved leader

through ladylike routines

in new leotards and ballet shoes,

embarrassed at the sight of butts

and legs they’d never seen before,

their shapes always having been covered

in Sunday pleats and gathers.

Gradually, as confidence crept in

with dance steps mastered

to such easy routine they could have

walked it in their sleep, their thoughts

began to wander, endorphins

they hadn’t owned since puberty

pushing them into loving their muscles,

liking their new form–such energy!

A few of the ladies quit, went off

to the fitness center in town

and started working out with weights.

They bought cross-training shoes,

aerobics and lifting on alternate days.

Made excuses for not going out with

the family on weekends, went running

on Saturdays, hot-tubbing Sunday.

They were looking sharp, feeling

like they could conquer the world.

One ran for public office, two divorced.

I burned up a new pair of shoes

every six months, got so tight and sinewy

I stopped my cycle, no more monthly

bleeding, just energy, energy and power.

I could carry six bags of groceries

to the car myself, no cart, no sweat.

I could stay up until midnight baking,

doing laundry, cleaning the bathroom.

I’d fall into bed, sleep hard until five,

get up and go like hell.  One day

my man voiced his usual complaints

and I decked him.  All from a church-ladies

gentle aerobics class ordered by God.