Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Dandelion seed head tattoo on the wrist
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A small dandelion seed head with a short, tapering stem is tattooed on the inner wrist. The seed head is drawn with light, feathery black strokes that fade towards the top, and the stem is a single solid line. The skin is pale and the background is a soft, out-of-focus cream textured rug.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The dance hall at Skegness had a sprung floor that could be heard from the end of the pier, and Mr Ansell swore it had been laid that way on purpose so no band could sneak a late encore past the town. I swept it every Tuesday with a broom that had more grey in it than bristle. The Tuesday my brother Eddie came to tell me he was leaving for Hull with his trumpet case and a letter from a man in Leeds, I was on my knees under the stage, feeling for the dropped tickets that always slid down the gaps.
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He sat on the edge of the boards with his legs swinging over the orchestra pit. Outside the open back door, the dandelion clocks had gone loose and grey along the wall of the yard, and the sea wind kept pulling at them. Eddie picked one up and held it out to me. "Go on," he said. "You blow, you wish. Every seed is a town you haven't been to yet." I told him he was too old for that nonsense, and he laughed the way he used to when we were small and he'd let me win at marbles.
He didn't wait for me to wish. He took the clock, blew it apart over the dance floor himself, and the seeds went up in a loose cloud through the high windows, catching the late light off the promenade lamps. Some drifted down among the chairs. One caught in a crack of the floorboards near my hand, a single pale seed with its thin dark stem still attached, and I didn't sweep it up. Eddie's train left at six. I stayed behind and played the gramophone to an empty hall, and the last waltz went out through the doors and over the wet sand after him.
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