Small colour tattoo of a pink peony with green leaves on a stem, placed on a woman's upper chest near the collarbone, in a botanical neo-traditional style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pink peony and leaves on the chest

Botanical · Chest · Colour · Photo

A pink peony bloom with soft petal shading and dark outlines sits at the end of a thin stem with two green leaves, angled up towards the shoulder. The linework is bold and the petals are shaded in several tones of pink with darker greens on the leaves. The tattoo sits on the upper chest against a plain pale background, with the subject's lower face and black lace top visible at the edges of the frame.

Botanical Neo-trad Chest Shoulder Peony Flower Leaves Stem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The peony had been in the bottom bed for eleven springs before anyone in the Pendle house thought to ask what it was for. Ruth had planted it from a cutting her mother carried over from Halifax in a biscuit tin, and it had sulked, then flowered, then sulked again. This was the year the council wanted the back field for a bypass, and the surveyor with the clipboard had pushed a pink stake through the middle of the bed as if it were a mistake he could correct later.

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She did not argue with him. She went out at six with the kitchen scissors and a bread bag wrapped around one hand, and she cut the biggest bloom, which had opened overnight to the size of a saucer. It came away with a long stem and two leaves still on it, dark as wet slate, and she carried it indoors held upright like a candle in a draught.

Her grandson Tomas found her at the table with the seed catalogue open and a pencil in her fist. She was shading the petals in the margin, pressing hard where the folds went deep, working out which pink was truest. 'You'll not save it with drawings,' he said. 'No,' Ruth said. 'But I'll know what it looked like.'

By the time the stakes came up the following week, the jam jar on the sill had dropped its last petal into the water, and she had filled three pages of the catalogue with the same flower, each one a little less like the last. She put the pages in the drawer with the rent books. The bypass went where it wanted. The bed is under tarmac now, and the drawings are still held together with a perished rubber band.