The big wart on the side of your neck -
that icky, sticky extra drop of flesh that jingle-jangles
three inches from your ear - first drew my notice.

Not the mozham of fresh jasmine threaded into your plait,
nor the clumsily pleated pallu fanned across your high backed blouse
or the diamond thodu that made your ears droop.

This alone made me reconsider your pitch black hair,
tied (on second thought) too long and too tight,
And the infant cradled in your arms, that now I see, must be your daughter's.