Traditional style colour tattoo of a red heart with clasped hands, a pink flower and green leaves on a limb.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Clasped hands in a heart with a flower

Traditional · Other · Colour · Photo

A solid red heart outlined in black and framed by a blue and brown border sits at the centre of the design, with a pair of clasped hands, one grey and one flesh-toned, crossing over it. A pink and white flower with a yellow centre rises above the heart, and green leaves fan out from behind the heart at each side. Bold black outlines, flat fills and a plain pale skin background give the image a clear, even composition.

Traditional Other Heart Clasped hands Flower Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fiddler stopped halfway through the reel because Mary Ann Tulley had walked onto the boards with one glove on and one glove off, and everyone in the Crown Hall at Haddon Ferry knew what that meant. Nobody said a word. The lamps hissed. Somebody's boot scraped and then was still.

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Joe Cairn had lost two fingers and the use of his right hand to the sluice gate at his father's mill the winter before. He had sat at the back of every dance since with the hand wrapped in grey wool, pretending he was too tired to get up. Mary Ann had not once looked his way. She had danced with her cousins from Wenley and with the carter's boy, and she had laughed loudly enough for him to hear.

Now she crossed the floor in her stockinged feet, the glove still balled in her fist, and she took the grey-wrapped hand in her bare one. She lifted it into the lamplight so the whole hall could see the wool and the stiff knuckles beneath, and she did not let go. Old Hannah from the bakery began to cry into her shawl. The fiddler, who had known them both since their christening, started up again, slower this time, and the camellia that had been tucked behind the lamp on the sill fell to the boards. Nobody picked it up.

They danced until the oil ran low. Afterwards Joe walked her home along the towpath with his good hand in his coat pocket, and at her gate neither of them could think of anything to say. So she laid the glove on his palm and went in. She kept it in her apron ever after, and when the river ran high and the mill wheel groaned, she would take it out and turn it over in her fingers, the way you might check a letter for a name you already know.