A grid of photographs of small script tattoos on wrists, forearms, shoulders, neck and ankle, reading words such as imagine, joy, hope and good bye, mostly in black lettering.

Grid of script word and quote tattoos

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

This image is a collage of many close-up photographs, each showing a single word or short phrase tattooed in script or lettering on different parts of the body. Most lines are fine black linework with some bolder block and decorative lettering, and a few appear in faint blue ink. The tiles are arranged in a tall grid with a title banner at the top reading tattoos: escritas.

Lettering Forearm Upper arm Shoulder Back Neck Ankle Hand Script Quote Word Hope Collage

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Mam, The Aurora's skipper came into the shop again last night with his sleeve rolled to the elbow and a carpenter's pencil behind his ear. He wanted Fate fell short across the inside of his wrist, in the same copperplate I used on the church notice cards. I told him salt water would soften the lines in a season. He said then the sea could have the job of fading it, and bought me a pint of mild for the trouble.

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The Portuguese cook off the Lisbon boat wanted saudade, the word his grandmother used for the ache of a thing that is still there but far away. He sat very still while I worked, watching the blue ink go into his skin like smoke into a jar. Then a lad from the cannery asked for good bye with the O drawn as a porthole, and I told him he'd be doing me a favour by keeping it to two words.

This morning the Aurora's mate came to the door with the last of his savings in a handkerchief and asked for two words, his mother's words, which he would not say aloud in front of the others. I told him no. Ink doesn't come off, and a word that wants an answer shouldn't be kept on skin where it can't be read back to you. So I've written it at the foot of this page instead, the way you used to write it on my lunch tin.

Tell Dad the kettle's on and the bread is in the crock. The tide turns at four, so I'll be watching the harbour light for the Aurora's mast. Come home, Mam, or at least tell me what you want me to write back.