The tattoo on her calf was a wingless butterfly.
She said, she could bear it no more, the needle
that mowed hues into her skin, and punctured
the flesh that her worried mother wanted her
to hide. But twenty-first century blood in her veins
wanted no Burka, no veil, and not even the Salwaar.
Her wingless butterfly, ever so motionless, wrinkled
like her ambitions fast, when her US returned
Professor husband imprisoned her as his wife.
The threat of divorce is a convincing lawyer,
more so when the judge and jury society
believes in your guilt, tattoed on your calf.
July 08, 2006
