from The Ladder of Divine Ascent

XI. On talkativeness and silence

 

Biting

the words biting

 

the fig.

Each tossed

 

sentence a half-

chewed fruit.

 

None grow.

The mouth is

 

still

but never

 

still.

I eat

 

the silence and

its consequence.

 

I keep

my hands folded

 

at my lap.

There is a list 

 

of what not to.

I am holier

 

each time

I do not

 

touch you.

Dear, sitting

 

with you

is like Lent.


________________________________________


Lauren Eggert-Crowe has written for Salon, The Rumpus, Ask A Socialist and L.A. Review of Books, and has published poetry in DIAGRAM, terrain.org, and Water-Stone Review, among others. She is the author of two forthcoming poetry chapbooks: The Exhibit, and In The Songbird Laboratory