Small solid black crescent moon tattoo on the inner wrist, shown with a raised fist and red painted nails against a plain wall.

Small crescent moon on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small, solid black crescent moon sits on the inner wrist. The shape has clean, even edges with no shading, and the ink is a single dark tone. The photograph shows a raised hand with red nails against a plain pale wall, with the tattoo placed low on the wrist near the arm.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Hand Moon Crescent

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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

The lift at Harrow Court has been dead since Tuesday, so you take the stairs with the shopping hooked over two fingers, counting landings the way you once counted fence posts on a road trip you have stopped mentioning. On the eleventh floor the window at the half-landing has a crack like a fishhook, and tonight the moon is caught in it, a thin white paring hanging over the bins.

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Mr Pryce on nine has left a carrier bag on the bannister again. Inside are four oatcakes wrapped in foil and a note in block capitals: THE COUNCIL CAN FIX A LIFT WHEN THEY ARE SHAMED ENOUGH. You know he means it as a joke, and you eat one on the stairs anyway. Mrs Adeyemi on seven is the one who taught the whole block to read the sky. She says a new moon is a promise you can hold up to the window and count the days by, and the building has believed her for nineteen years.

At the fourth floor you find the window misted from the boiler vent, and without thinking you draw a crescent in the damp with your thumb. It is a daft thing, the kind of mark a child leaves on a bus window. Then you keep climbing, and on the sixth floor you see a smudge already there, a curve drawn from the other side of the glass, fresh enough to bead.

By the time you reach your own door the stairwell has a row of small pale shapes all the way down, one per landing, each a little different, as if every flat kept its own idea of the sky. You set the bags down and find your key, and for once you do not look for the moon. It is already on the wall behind you, and it is yours to carry up.