Black fine line tattoo of a bare tree with spreading branches on the inner wrist, photographed in direct sunlight.

Bare tree branches on an inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of a leafless tree shows a solid black trunk on the right that splits into thin, spreading branches on the left. The linework is crisp and the ink is solid black with no shading. The tree sits centrally on the inner wrist against a plain background of skin, with warm sunlight and some shadow across the photo.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Mags,

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Four in the morning and the car park lamps have that orange buzz that makes everything look like a photograph of itself. I've taken my break on the bench by the bins, which is the only place on this site where you can see the sycamore properly. They took its leaves weeks ago. Stripped bare, it looks less like a tree and more like a hand drawn in ink on grey paper, one thick trunk rising and then splitting into fine threads that pull in every direction.

Mr Okafor in bed nine asked me tonight what I thought the tree was waiting for. I said spring, because that is what you say. He laughed and said trees don't wait, they just keep going out at the ends, and that the thick bit is the part that remembers where everything started. I didn't know what to say to that, so I wrote it on the back of a medication chart, which is not allowed, and I'm copying it into this letter instead.

The ward went quiet after that. Bed six rang twice for water, the monitor in four kept its steady tune, and I checked the drips with my torch clamped between my teeth. Nobody needed me to be clever. They just needed me to be there at the hour when everything feels longest.

Dawn is starting to pale the edges of the sky behind the sycamore. Soon the day staff will come in with their flasks and their chatter, and I'll drive home past the same bare branches. I'll look for the buds. I know they're in there, tight as commas, waiting for their turn. Love, Jo

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