La Traviata

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Mascara smudge marks dapple,
salted tears, stain my face.

Hasty departure,
step and stumble,
silver streaks of splitting silk,
dress tears and shreds.

I am the fallen woman.

Any good opera has me in tears (even the comedies) and NZ Opera’s La Traviata (the fallen woman) was no exception – I did leave in a bit of a mess (although not quite Viloletta’s contemporary).

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