In Praise of God and Orgasms

Sarah Pinto

An orgasm is hungry,

barreling down a body like a fast train,

or licking slowly

savoring the bottom of the ice cream bowl.

Afterward,

you may wake to find yourself

smeared across the sky

(some call that a sunrise)

or dripping from tree branches.

You may also find God

(whoever or whatever that may be)

in your bed,

perched on stained sheets.

An orgasm is not born of ecstasy

alone.

There’s the agony,

the pulling of hearts like taffy,

the ripping out of flowers,

and raw, red throats.

And yes,

there is also joy.

Orgasms are extraordinary in manifestation,

but ordinary in birth.

They can speak too,

Or have we forgotten?

We lock them up,

keep them silent

so the neighbors won’t hear,

So God won’t hear.

But God can hear,

and wants us to stop stilling

those watercolor voices.

To be truly unabashed

and divine,

to claw

shudder

and thrash,

voices raised toward the sky

and rooted in the ground,

two bodies or one,

flowing like a long red river,

like the cascade that follows

broken hymen

(or hymn)

to the release

of all

that is holy.