Sunday School

Megan Pinto


These men in robes they told us once: the very nature of sin is contagious.

One coughed in his hand and blessed the bread, God’s body is not contagious.


They spoke of a snake racing through wet grass,

quivering muscles and dark venom growing contagious.


(Mrs. Freisner wore red lipstick that day,

 I found her beauty contagious.


She charted out desire on the chalkboard, thin fingers tousling

her black hair. Careful, she wrote, lust can be contagious.)


Eve’s skin, silky and soft. Her lips, red, and the apples–

How soft is a moan? Enough to forget how the contagious


gets inside these bones, underneath my skin.

I brush my lips against yours, find your taste contagious.