Black ink hamsa hand tattoo with ornate patterned detail, placed centrally on a woman's upper back while her arms are raised.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Hamsa hand on upper back

Blackwork · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A woman with her hair tied up is photographed from behind, showing a single hamsa hand tattoo centred on her upper back. The hand is outlined in fine black linework and filled with swirling ornamental patterns, small dots and an eye motif. The image is in colour, with the tattoo as the clear focal point against the bare skin and black top.

Blackwork Dotwork Back Hamsa Hand Ornament Swirl Dot Eye

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift in Halsey House has been broken since March, so every evening I climb the eleven flights with shopping cutting into my fingers and other people's dinners leaking through their doors. Nobody on the fourth floor has ever bothered with their walls. Then Mr Dacre from twelve came back from a car boot sale in his van with a brass hand the size of a dinner plate and screwed it above the bin chute.

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'Keeps the bad luck off the stairs,' he said, rapping the palm with his knuckle so the whole shaft rang like a bell. The fingers were scrolled and pierced, curling like ferns, and in the centre someone had punched a small almond eye with a dot inside it. Mrs Okonedo from seven took one look and said the thumb faced the wrong way, that it should point at the door and not the lift. She has lived here since the block had a doorman, so nobody argued.

The hand vanished in the second week. Mrs Okonedo blamed the lads from the ground floor, and Mr Dacre blamed the council, and the bin chute stayed bare for a fortnight while the kids on the stairs used the wall for football practice. I found it myself on a Tuesday, wedged behind the recycling sacks on the ninth-floor landing, dented at one knuckle and furred with grey dust. I still don't know who took it or why they brought it back.

I carried it up the last flight, turned it so the thumb faced the door, and screwed it back on with the drill I keep in my coat. When I finished, the stairwell light gave one long flicker, and the little eye in the palm caught it and looked straight back at me. I said good evening to it, which is more than I've said to most of my neighbours, and went inside to put the kettle on.