I knew what a weasel was, and I knew what a woman was, but what was a weasel woman? Billy Joel knew, I thought, and it seemed taboo, maybe even weirdly sexual. Of course I was mishearing “She’s Always a Woman.” The song played often on the soft rock radio station my mother liked, its piano opening quieting me, getting me to focus my attention for clues that might give this weasel woman away. “She can kill with her smile.” This woman ostensibly had the Garden of Eden to do what she wished with. “She can” phrases repeat—she can do so many things. The song’s words are so tenderly sung. A weasel’s long slender body. I grew to like my weasel woman, wishing to be mildly weaselish when I got a little older. To make someone “oh” and hum like that. To never give up, to never give in.
-Jennifer H. Fortin
Jennifer H. Fortin is the author of the just-published book of poems Mined Muzzle Velocity (Lowbrow Press) and a few chapbooks. She recently moved to Syracuse, NY. For more information, visit www.jenniferhfortin.com.
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