Black and grey botanical tattoo of a star-shaped flower with swirling stems and the word Sisters in script, on the ankle.

Black and grey flower with Sisters script on ankle

Botanical · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A large star-shaped flower with curling stems and two leaves sits on the lower leg, with the word Sisters in a script font across its centre. The flower petals and stems are shaded in soft greys with bold black outlines, and the script is left as light skin-coloured lettering. The tattoo is shown in black and grey on a plain background of skin and dark red upholstery.

Botanical Lettering Ankle Flower Lily Swirl Leaves Script Sister Stem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lilies came up the week after Dad's funeral, which Nell said was typical of him, turning up uninvited the way he always had. We had planted nothing in that bed for eleven years. The soil by the back wall was hard as brick, and I told her the bulbs would have rotted by now. She dug anyway, on her knees in his old gardening jumper, and held up a fat white thing like a clenched fist.

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We argued about where to put them. Nell wanted them under the kitchen window where she could see them from the sink, and I wanted the far corner, out of anybody's sight. We split the difference, and then a wet April made us forget them altogether. By June there were stalks as tall as my shoulder, curling at the tips like the ends of a violin, and by July the flowers had opened into pale stars that looked lit from inside. Nell photographed every one. She said the curl on each stem was the plant reaching for the light. I said it was just a plant doing what plants do. She said that was the most sisterly thing I had ever said.

The last bloom opened the morning Nell went into hospital for the second time. I cut it for her bedside, shaking the stamens out over the sink first because the ward sister had strong views about pollen. The room smelled of disinfectant and lilies, a clash that made Nell laugh until she coughed. She asked me to take a cutting. I said it would wreck the bed. She told me to stop being practical, which from her was a kind of blessing.

That night I dug a hole by the wall and wrapped the bulb in a damp tea towel. The orange pollen had stained two of my fingers, and I left it there while I worked the soil back over the bulb. I pressed a flat stone on top so the rain would not take it, and then went in to put the kettle on for two.