for me you used to play 'suzanne'.

it's how i fell in love with that song, you know.
everything somehow always wrapped itself around
how much that song meant to me when you played it
that night in the car when we were driving back from boston
in the blizzard. we had to stop the car a while,
as the ice hit the windshield with triumphant blows.

it was before i had ever heard leonard cohen's original,
nina simone breaking your heart with his lyrics.
and we were both under my coat touching elbows,
nuzzled into each other and i knew thst you were thinking then
i was your suzanne and that for a moment,
maybe just that one time,
you loved me.

when you left, i used to put that song on repeat,
my ears ringing with the loss of you so great and overwhelming.
each word a punctured blow of your departure into wider roads
and different lovers.
to find a boat and drift away to sea,
to dock a different harbor.
well, i would press my face against my knees and bawl,
listening to 'suzanne' without you there.

today, in the kitchen,
i walked in on you playing it for her.
i heard the familiar chords, the intonation.
something rose in me, distorted, shook.
but i could only hum along, try to match my voice
to each note, the shock and grief of you playing it
for someone else so great and unapologetic.

but i kept singing, looking at you
hoping you understand the depth of your betrayal.
and then the tape started skipping, sputtering,
nina's words muddled by the fuzz of a faulty deck,
my anger in rhythm with the static exhaust.
but i kept singing. even through the breaks.

but your girl couldn't take it, and
i hope you noticed that she was covering her ears
there in the kitchen. halfway through she
got up and turned off that player, interrupting 'suzanne',
her rags and feathers.

God, i would never turn off that song.
i just kept singing.

08/07/2007

Posted on 08/07/2007
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer