fought on paper
on forced trips
sitting a couple of rows back
and silenced by service
the pen wound its way around print
she said she had to believe it was right
what was the point otherwise
even to the exclusion
to each his own, they'd say
to each his own
you said if you were only Nietzsche
(you meant, if only he were right)
you would throw me on the bed
and it took a year and a half
to understand
why you said Nietzsche
and not J. Alfred Prufrock
But I'm not sure you saw
I was sitting in a pew
only to get to you
to each his own, they'd say
to each his own
he said it was in this:
I didn't seem to be aware
of his state of being made of halves
I didn't acknowledge his inability to identify
enough for his taste.
He assumed.
After all of that.
That I'd sit in a pew.
My pew is the crook in the tree
the rug on the floor
the sand beneath bare feet
the water dripping out of taps
to each his own, they'd say
to each his own
© lily keller 2001