Two wrists held together, each with a small fine line poppy tattoo with a light red fill, placed on the inner wrist.

Matching poppy tattoos on two wrists

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

Two small poppy tattoos sit on the inner wrists of two people, one on each arm, and they appear to match. The bloom is outlined in fine black linework with a soft red and orange wash, and each has a thin stem drawn in black. The shot is close and shallow in focus, with a dark grey background and the wrists held together, with one person in a cream knit sleeve with a red tartan cuff and the other in a maroon knit sleeve.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Poppy Flower Stem Matching tattoo Wrist

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mam sent the seed packet in March, folded twice inside a letter about the price of coal. Nell found it first, as she always did, because she read the post before it reached the kitchen table. Shirley Poppy, the packet said in Mam's careful capitals. Sow thin and do not let it blow away.

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We had planned the bed the summer before, the summer our family broke up like a dropped plate. Nell went to the cousins in Hexham and I went to the vicarage in Alnwick, where the Reverend's wife counted the eggs twice a day and nothing grew but nettles. Nell pressed half the seed into an old Bovril tin and posted it to me with a note saying the other half would stay in her coat pocket until the ground warmed.

I scattered mine along the wall behind the coal shed on the first dry Saturday in April, while the vicar's wife was at her sister's. I wrote to Nell that I had done it, that the shed roof leaked on one side, and that I had talked to the seeds the way Mam talked to the hens. Nothing came up that year, or the next.

Then one June a whole line of green appeared along the wall, and the vicar's wife stood in the back doorway with her hands on her hips and said she had never seen such weeds. Nell's letter arrived the same week. Hers had come up too, by the railway fence in Hexham, and the flowers were the colour of a cut lip and so bold the cousins had complained. We had both been waiting, it turned out, for the same thing: a scrap of ground that would have us.