Pink hibiscus flower tattoo with black swirling linework and dots across a person's upper back and shoulder blade.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pink hibiscus with black swirls on a shoulder blade

Botanical · Back · Mixed · Photo

A large pink hibiscus flower with shaded petals and a dark centre sits on the upper back, with its petals softly graded from light to deeper pink. Fine black swirling lines, dots and curls surround the bloom and trail outward across the skin, with a few small pink accents among them. The composition is asymmetrical, with the flower dominant and the linework spreading toward the shoulder.

Botanical Neo-trad Back Shoulder Hibiscus Flower Swirl Dot Linework

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tom, The 4.15 is late again, so Mr Harrow has let me sit in the parcels office with the door open and the kettle on. I have the hibiscus cutting in its jam jar on the sill, the one Mrs Okafor gave me before she went back to Lagos. It has put out two new buds since Tuesday and I am fairly sure it is showing off.

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You will remember the summer Father painted the waiting room. He used the pink from the company's own tins, meant for the iron bridge, and somehow got it on the ink pot too. Everything since has had a faint blush to it. Yesterday the ink from the telegraph desk ran in a line down the ticket window, black curls like the ones you used to draw in the margins of my school atlas, and I stood there with the cloth in my hand thinking of you on that ship.

The letter from the Colonial Office came. They say the post will not be sent before March, and I am not to expect you before then. I read it twice on the platform, then folded it into the timetable so it would not blow onto the line. The 4.15 came in at ten to six. Three passengers, one dog, and a man in a grey coat who asked me where the sea was. I told him it was a mile past the bridge and he should follow the smell of the salt.

I have pressed a petal between the pages of the Bradshaw. It is the colour of the sweets you always saved for Sundays, and it has gone a little darker at the edges, like the bruise on your knee from the goods yard. Write when you can. Your loving sister, Edie.