Black and grey realism style roses with leaves and thorny vines covering the shoulder, upper arm and forearm of a person wearing a white vest top.

Black and grey roses on an upper arm sleeve

Botanical · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A large sleeve of roses runs from the shoulder down the upper arm and onto the forearm, with a full-bloom rose on the shoulder and a second rose on the upper arm. Thin outlines, vines, thorns and leaves link the flowers, and the petals are shaded in soft greys with darker accents. The photo is a mirror selfie taken indoors on a wooden floor, with the person's face out of frame.

Botanical Realism Shoulder Upper arm Forearm Rose Leaves Vine Thorn Sleeve

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tomas, the big top came down on Tuesday in Shrewsbury, and the men folded the last of the canvas without a word, which is how I knew it was truly finished. Your father would have made a speech about it. Instead Mr Okonedo sat on the step of the horse box with his cap in his hands and counted the rope pegs twice.

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The wagons still wear the paint you remember, the roses climbing the side panels from the wheel hubs up to the gilt scrollwork under the roof. Your father had old Mr Pell do them in grey wash so they would show under the lamps, and he insisted on the thorns, fine as pen strokes, running through the vines like wire. Mrs Vance from the ticket hut says they look like mourning cards. I told her roses were always meant for funerals, and she told me I was being morbid, and then we both laughed until the goat got loose.

I have sold the ring curtain to a theatre in Leeds. The ivy on it took six women a fortnight to stitch, and the man who bought it said he would hang it in the foyer where people could see it from the stairs. I hope he takes care of the black rose in the corner, the one with the torn petal. Your sister unpicked the stitches on that piece herself so it could go with the last wagon, and she wouldn't say why.

Come home at Christmas if you can. The lot is ours until the bank says otherwise, and the last wagon is parked under the chestnut tree by the old gate. I have left the door unlocked. Bring your own gloves for the thorns. Love, Mam.