Two purple and green calla lily tattoos run down a lower leg in a botanical style, with a small black fine line calla lily on the ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Calla lily tattoos on calf and ankle

Botanical · Calf · Mixed · Photo

The photograph shows two larger calla lilies in purple and pink shading, with thin green stems curling down the outer lower leg. A smaller calla lily drawn in a single black line sits on the ankle of the second leg. The black and white photo sets the tattoos against a dark background, with the colour tattoos as the main focus.

Botanical Fine line Calf Ankle Lily Flower Stem Leaf

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bulbs come up from the station in a tea chest, packed in the Ashworth Gazette, and you carry the chest up Shaw Lane before the six o'clock buzzer with the paper still damp from the rain. Nobody else in Hollin Bank grows anything on the spoil side of the wall. The ground there is grey and sour, so you dig in boiler ash and the crumbled shale the men bring up in their pockets, and you pinch the soil around each root the way your mother did with onions.

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By June the first spathes open, cupped and smooth as candle wax. The purple ones take longest. They start the colour of a bruise and then the pink climbs up from the throat, so you have to stand and watch them change. Tom Greaves leans on the gate with his bait tin and says lilies are for funerals. You tell him they are for the women who stand at the pit head every shift, and he laughs, and then he doesn't.

The day the water came into Number Four, you stood at the top of the cage road with the others until the light went. Nobody said much. When the men came up in ones and twos, black to the eyes, you walked down the lane with a bucket and a stem cut short, and you pressed it into the hand of whoever looked least able to hold it.

Afterwards you draw one bloom in a single line, a curl at the top and a stalk trailing off to nothing, on the back of a spare pay slip. You pin it above the lamp hook by the door, where the men hang their caps and check the board for their names, and in autumn the bulbs push up again through the ash, keeping their own counsel.