Two fine line black tattoos on wrists, each reading Sisters 92 95 beside a small drawing of a girl on a swing.

Matching sisters swing tattoos on wrists

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

Two matching tattoos sit on the inner wrists of two people, each with the word Sisters in cursive script above the numbers 92 95. Beside the lettering is a simple outline drawing of a girl on a swing, with the swing ropes running up past the figure. The linework is thin and even in black ink, with no shading, and the pair is placed side by side against plain skin.

Fine line Lettering Other Sister Girl Number Script Matching

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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

The swing in the park behind Hollins Road had one chain that shrieked on the upstroke, and Dee always made me take that side. She said it was my turn to be the loud one. I was nine that summer and she was eleven, and we had a rule that whoever got highest had to tell the other a secret before their feet touched the gravel again. I never won. Dee always went higher, because she never once looked down.

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The year we turned sixteen and nineteen, Mum's new man found work in Carlisle and we went with him, though Dee was already too old for anybody to move her. She carved the numbers into the crossbar of that swing with the blade of a penknife before we left, 92 95, the two summers we'd spent flying up and down and pretending the world was a long way off. I wasn't allowed to help. I stood at the fence and told her the lines were crooked.

At Gretna I hand my passport through the window of the car and the officer frowns at the photograph, then at me, then at my wrist where the ink has finally settled into a grey-black line. He asks what the swing is for. Dee leans across the seat, lifts her own sleeve, and I see our two small girls facing the same way, ropes running up past their shoulders. "Just a secret," she says. "We're still working out who wins." He waves us through, and I think she's right, and I still don't know which of us is the loud one.