Black fine line script reading que sera sera across the inside of a wrist, with red nail polish on the hand above.

Que sera sera script on a wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black script phrase reading que sera sera runs across the inner wrist of a light-skinned hand. The lettering uses thin, slightly tapered strokes with a handwritten, flowing look. The ink is solid black on pale skin, and the soft daylight and shallow focus keep the background simple.

Lettering Fine line Forearm Script Phrase Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the lot of you, and mind the cat, she has opinions about the kettle. My mother had one saying for everything, and it was a foreign one. A sailor left a gramophone record in our kitchen the winter the mail boat went without him, and the only tune on it was a woman singing that same line over and over until the needle wore thin. Que sera, sera, she'd say, whenever the herring were poor or the roof leaked into the good pot.

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My brother Tam wanted off this rock more than he wanted his supper. The spring he turned seventeen he packed a tin of oatcakes and a pair of boots two sizes too big, and he stood at the door asking what if the boat went down, what if the Glasgow men laughed at his Gaelic, what if he hated it there. My mother didn't look up from the bread. Que sera, sera, she said, and buttered him a second slice for the road. He told me later that was the worst answer he'd ever had, and he went anyway.

He came back forty-one years on, with a grandson who couldn't pronounce a single word of Gaelic and a wife who thought the place was charming. Our mother was three years in the kirkyard by then. He stood in her kitchen turning the old record over in his hands, and then he laughed until he had to sit down, because the tin was still on the top shelf, lid dented, with TAM scratched into it in her careful hand. She had never once thrown out the oatcakes, but she had kept the tin, and she had kept the door open. That's the whole of it. Now, who wants the last of the scones?