Psalm 46:5 script on a wrist
Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A single line of black cursive script reads psalm 46:5 across the wrist, with the numerals set in the same flowing hand. The linework is thin and even, with the letters joined in a continuous stroke. The skin tone is warm and the background is a soft, out-of-focus floral fabric.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The flood came up the Ouse on a Tuesday, brown and fast as a cart horse, and by four the lock keeper at Naburn had stopped pretending to mind the gates. My father's barge, the Constance May, was still tied to the wharf below the chapel with two hawsers and a prayer. I was the one who had to take her down to Selby before the water took the wharf and the wharf took her.
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Dad kept a pencil in the wheelhouse, and under the chart table, in his square capitals, he had written psalm 46:5 on the wood where only the steering hand would see it. There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God. He used to tap it when we passed a drowned field and say the psalmist had never seen the Ouse in March. I laughed at him then. I did not laugh when the engine coughed twice at the Riccall bend and the current swung us broadside toward the willows.
I got her round by pure bullying, one hand on the tiller and the other on the throttle, shouting at the boat as if she were a stubborn mule. Somewhere past the sluice a swan lifted off the water right in front of the bow, and I thought that a river with that much noise in it could not possibly be making anyone glad. Then the lights of Selby came up through the rain, and the wharf men were swinging their lanterns in a slow, steady circle, and I understood that the glad part had never meant calm water. It meant the boat arriving.
At the quay I tied off with the knot Dad taught me and went back inside. The pencil was still on the chart table. Beneath his verse, in my own hand, I wrote the time we docked and the word home, and then I went out to help the men with the ropes.
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