To An Unknown Woman at the Opera I want to hold you with an open hand: a weightless body, like a moth alighting on my palm, then winging off again. I do not wish to speak to you, or close myself around you (though, I must confess, it would be nice to be the arm on which you lean, the ear in which you drop a whispered joke)-- what if you lisp, or smell of garlic, chatter only about shoes? But veiled in shadow, you are made perfect, a powdered pout, a cheekbone angled high, a riddle of a face. Remain that way, as I remain a puzzle to the man who watches me: a creature of the intermission, framed within a fickle lens for just a minute, undeciphered still, and unpossessed. Valerie Ang
Born and raised in Singapore, Valerie Ang is a student of LASALLE College of the Arts' MA in Creative Writing programme. She loves queer lit and mythology, and is the proud owner of a three-foot stuffed whale.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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May 2025
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