Black script lettering on a forearm reading God is within her, she will not fall, Psalms 46:5.

Psalms 46:5 script on forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a black script tattoo on the inside of a pale forearm, reading God is within her, she will not fall, with Psalms 46:5 set on a lower line to the right. The lettering uses smooth, flowing strokes with varied line weight and sits in a relaxed diagonal across the arm. The image is in black ink only, shown against a plain indoor background with a blurred blue object at the lower left.

Lettering Forearm Script Bible verse Psalm Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift in Harrow Court has been dead since March, so Mrs Adeyemi-Clarke and I climb the fourteen flights with the shopping between us, stopping on every landing like divers coming up slowly. She carries the bag of potatoes because she insists, and I carry the newspaper because she won't let me carry anything heavier.

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On the ninth floor a boy from the flats below sits on the stairs with a cracked phone, and she tells him to go home before the caretaker finds him. He doesn't move. She lowers herself onto the cold concrete beside him, one hand on her knee, and says what her mother used to say in Lagos: that a high place is still only ground with a better view. I think she means the words more than the stairs.

Her husband Tunde left in the spring, and the flat has been quieter since. Still, every Sunday she writes a line from the Psalms on the back of an envelope and pins it above the cooker, always the same one, about the city that will not be moved because God is within it. She taps the envelope as she passes, the way you check a lock you already know is shut.

When the lift shudders back to life in October, the first thing it does is stop between floors and open its doors onto nothing but black shaft and the smell of wet brick. We stand very still. She takes my hand and says we will not fall, then laughs at herself, because it is only a lift and we are only two women with potatoes. The doors close. We ride up the last six floors together, and she never once looks down.