Black outlined anchor tattoo filled with pink, red and purple roses and green leaves, in a botanical neo-traditional style, on the wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Anchor filled with roses on a wrist

Botanical · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A black outlined anchor has its shank filled with clusters of pink, red and purple roses, with green leaves and stems running through the centre. The bold black outline contrasts with the softer painted petals, and the shading is kept light. The design sits centrally on the wrist against pale skin.

Botanical Neo-trad Forearm Anchor Rose Flower Leaves Stem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

I kept the flower kiosk at Brackwater Pier station for thirty-one years, and the only regular who never once asked for a bouquet was Eli Carraway, deckhand on the Marigold ferry. He wanted loose stems. Pink ones, red ones, a purple sweet pea if I had one, and always a sprig of something green to run through them. He would stand on the platform with the wind pulling at his oilskin and wait for the 6.12 to clear the level crossing before he paid.

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The first time, I asked what they were for. He said the anchor on the Marigold's bow had belonged to his father, and it had been painted black so many times that the roses had nowhere else to go. He was joking, I think. He didn't smile when he said it, and he didn't say anything more about it.

In the winter the Marigold was laid up for a new hull, and he came up the platform steps without his oilskin, just his shirt and his bare hands going blue. I wrapped his usual order in brown paper and found I had tied it with the green twine I used on the timetable boards. He noticed and laughed properly for once. He took the roses down the harbour road to the old mooring post, where a rusted anchor lay half-sunk in the mud, and he wound the stems through its flukes until the black iron looked as if it were growing.

Nobody pays for flowers they never see again, I told the lad who took over the kiosk. Eli's order stayed chalked on my board all that spring. I still tie it up on Thursdays, though the paper has gone yellow, and when the tide is out I can see the anchor from the signal box, still blooming pink against the mud.