Anna May Wong on Silent Films

By Sally Wen Mao

It is natural to live in an era

when no one uttered––

and silence was glamour

so I could cast one glance westward

and you’d know what I was

going to kill. Murder in my gaze,

treachery in my movements:

if I bared the grooves

in my spine, made my lust known,

the reel would remind me

that someone with my face

could never be loved.

How did you expect my characters

to react? In so many shoots,

I was brandishing a dagger.

The narrative was enchanting

enough to make me believe

I, too, could live in a white

palace, smell the odorless gardens,

relieve myself on their white

petals. To be a star in Sun City––

to be first lady on the celluloid

screen––I had to marry

my own cinematic death.

I never wept audibly––I saw my

sisters in the sawmills,

reminded myself of my good luck.

Even the muzzle over my mouth

could not kill me, though I

never slept soundly through the silence.