Small black-outlined infinity symbol with script letters R and M, a central heart and two red hearts, tattooed on the inner wrist.

Infinity symbol with R and M on wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A small tattoo of an infinity symbol outlined in black, with a script letter R on the left loop and a script letter M on the right loop. A black-outlined heart sits at the centre where the loops meet, and two small solid red hearts sit at the top right and bottom left. The pale pink fill inside the loops and the sharp black lines are shown on smooth skin in a close, evenly lit photograph.

Lettering Forearm Infinity Heart Letter Script Initial

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the both of you, and mind the peat smoke. This is the tale my grandmother gave me about the ferry widow of Inish Mór, and the two letters she kept on her wrist. Her man was Rory Cahill, who rowed the Brídín across to the Ulva rocks every Tuesday for salt fish, and on the Tuesday the wind came round from the west he did not come back. Mairéad Lynch stood on the slip till her feet went numb, and the old men said she would be standing there yet if the tide had not taken her shoes.

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She did not go to the priest. She went to Tomás Doyle, the only man on the island who could cut a stencil and hold a needle steady enough to write in ink. He asked her what she wanted put on her, and she said two letters and a sign that would not end, the way the sea does not end, the way a wedding ring does not end. He drew her an eight lying on its side, then pricked a heart into the middle where the loops met, and at the top right and bottom left he set two small red hearts like drops of the wine they had poured at their wedding.

They say she kept her hand flat on the table when she was thinking, so the mark on the inside of her wrist was always turned up to the lamp. When the boats came in each evening she would lift that wrist and trace the R and the M with one finger, as if checking the letters were still there. The island women said that was the whole of her prayer. Nobody ever saw her cross the slip again, but every Tuesday, if you walked out past the last cottage, you would find a fresh loop of seaweed knotted round the iron ring, tied the way a sailor ties a thing he means to come back for.