Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Matching four-leaf clover tattoos on two wrists
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
Two matching four-leaf clover tattoos sit on separate wrists, one above the other. Each design uses a thin black outline with a looping stem and no shading. Metal bracelets and a charm rest on the wrists, against a background of green clover-like leaves.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The spoil heap behind Ashgrove never grew anything but coltsfoot and grit, so when Nell came up the back lane that March with a four-leaf clover pinched between finger and thumb, I told her she'd robbed somebody's allotment. She held it up anyway. Four heart-shaped leaves on a stalk that looped twice before it dropped into the dirt. 'Dad's last shift finished on Friday,' she said. 'Who's going to pay for the luck now?' I had no answer, so I fetched the biro from our kitchen drawer and drew it on the inside of her wrist, following the stalk round the way it had grown.
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Mrs Pryce, who did ear piercings above the chemist, owned a tattoo machine she'd bought off a man in Merthyr and never used for anything bigger than a swallow. She charged us eight quid each and didn't ask why two girls wanted the same small plant on the same small patch of skin. Black ink only, no shading, because Nell said anything fancy would look like we were trying too hard. The needle hummed like the old winding engine used to, and when it was done the clover sat on my own wrist, looping its stem the way the biro had taught me.
The colliery gates were chained in June. Nell went to Bristol with a bag of clothes and a job in a call centre, and I stayed to nurse my mam. We still hold our wrists up to the phone when we talk, one above the other on the screen, the lines a little blurred by bad signal. Nell says it looks like one plant growing in two places. I tell her the spoil heap was never that generous, so we must have been lucky enough to take a cutting each.
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