Close view of a small black fine line anchor tattoo on the inner wrist of a woman wearing a knitted brown sleeve.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small anchor on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black anchor sits on the inner wrist and lower forearm of a woman whose knitted brown sleeve and white top fill the background. The anchor is drawn with thin, even linework and is solid black with no visible shading. The image is a soft, muted photograph with the tattoo placed near the centre of the frame.

Fine line Forearm Anchor

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Margaret, the wind has been out of the south-west for nine days now and the gulls have stopped bothering the bins, which tells you how bad it's been. Mr Hollis at the chandlery says the Brenda Jane is overdue at the Dogger buoy, though he says it the way he says everything, as if he has already sold her boat to someone else. I walked down to the slip this morning with the kettle still warm in my coat pocket, meaning to ask him plainly, and instead I stood looking at the anchor he keeps painted on his shop sign, the one Tom chipped the year we married.

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You'll laugh, but I went to the tattooist on Fore Street on Saturday. Mrs Pargeter's boy does the work now, in the back of the barber's, with a needle that buzzes like a wasp in a jar. I had him put a small anchor on the inside of my wrist, just where I hold the tiller of the dinghy when I'm pretending I know how to sail. He asked if it was for a sailor. I said it was for someone who had the sense to come home, and he went quiet and kept his lines very steady.

The ink has gone dark already, though the boy says it will settle. I keep turning my hand over to look at it, the way you used to check the chain was still on the cleat. It's a plain thing, thin and even, nothing like the mermaids the lads at the Ship have on their arms. But it holds. That's the whole point of an anchor, isn't it? It doesn't go anywhere. It just lets the rest of the boat swing round it in the dark.

If the telegram comes, I'll put the kettle on and walk down to the slip anyway. If it doesn't, I'll still walk down. Either way, love, I'll bring the good cups.

Your sister, Eileen