Black and grey forearm tattoo of a pineapple above a pineapple bowl holding a tropical island with palm trees, a thatched hut and a crescent moon, in linework and dotwork.

Pineapple island tattoo on a forearm

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The design shows a whole pineapple floating above a pineapple cut open to reveal a small island with two palm trees, a thatched hut, a crescent moon and small stars. Bold outlines define the fruit, with diamond-patterned crosshatching and stippled dot shading on the skin and leaves. The motif is centred on the forearm against plain skin, with part of another tattoo visible at the right edge.

Dotwork Traditional Forearm Pineapple Island Palm tree Moon Star Wave

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The pineapple came off the Ardent in a crate of bananas, and Mrs Okonedo at the Pell Street stall swore it had been ripening since the Azores. Joss, who swept the quay for a penny a day, was told to take it home before the gulls got it. He carried it under his coat all the way up Redcliffe Hill, feeling its weight like a sleeping cat.

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He cut it on the kitchen table with his father's bread knife. The first slice came away clean. The second showed him something he had no words for: diamonds of gold running down the flesh, and in the hollow at the core, a shelf of sand no bigger than his palm. A hut sat on it, thatched with a single twist of rope-yarn. Two palms leaned over it as if listening. Above, a paring of moon hung against the rind, and the stars were pinpricks where the blade had gone through.

He told nobody. He kept the bowl on the windowsill and listened to the tide he could hear through the wall, and each night the waves inside rose a little higher against the skin. On the seventh night the kitchen smelled of salt. Joss took the bowl down to the quay in both hands and waded out past the mooring chains until the water reached his chest.

The bowl was empty by morning, the rind dry as paper, and the windowsill had a pale ring of sand. Joss never found the island again. But for a month his mother kept shaking grit from her shoes, and the crown of leaves he had thrown on the fire would not catch.