Black ink anatomical heart with roots and branches on the inner wrist of a raised hand, in a botanical style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Anatomical heart with roots on a wrist

Botanical · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A hand is raised in a fist against a plain grey wall, showing a tattoo on the inner wrist. The design is an anatomical heart with roots trailing downwards and branches growing from the top, with a small rose-like bud on the right. The linework is fine and stippled, with soft shading that gives the heart some depth, all in black ink on a light skin tone.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Nell, The ice finally let go of the cut at Hobbs Lock on Tuesday, so we are moving again, though Dad swears the Mabel sits lower in the water than she did in October. I think it is the stove. You asked what I did with Gran's cuttings. I took them off the towpath wall before the council men came with their saws, and they are in the galley now, wrapped in wet newspaper and looking very sorry for themselves.

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Remember the anatomy book she kept under the bench, the heart plate with every tube and valve labelled in brown ink? She used to say it was a map of a town with the roads taken out. She traced it onto the hatch board with a pencil stub, and every spring she added something to it. The year before she died it was the bramble. Last month I found the board in the bilge with the varnish gone white and the old lines standing up through it like veins.

Yesterday I tried to sand it back. Under the paint the roots had gone right through the grain, pale and fine as hair, down into the oak. Dad said it was rot and I said it was her, and we nearly came to blows over a plank. When we tried to lift it free, the roots pulled taut like they wanted the bank back, and the whole boat groaned on her lines.

So we are not moving the Mabel until the thing finishes. I have set the cuttings along the gunwale in jam jars, and this morning there was a bud on the little knot at the top of the heart, the one she always said was a rose that had got lost. Come up at Easter and bring your good secateurs. Love, Jo.

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