Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Triple moon and framed figure on a forearm
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
The tattoo sits on the forearm and combines two motifs: a triple moon with a peace sign at its centre, and a rectangular frame containing a simple figure with a solid black oval where the face would be, with hands raised together below. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the outlines are crisp against the pale skin. The image is in black and white, with the frame placed directly below the moon motif.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Mam kept the moon chart pinned inside the bow locker, the phases inked in her square capitals, and she never let me take the Ellen Mary through Linden lock after dark without reading it first. "The water knows the moon better than you do," she'd say, tapping the page. "Full moon, it wants to climb the weir. New moon, it sulks at the bottom of the cut."
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The winter I turned sixteen she stopped coming down to the boat. The chart stayed where it was. I took over the tiller and the lock keys and the bread run to the village, and every evening I climbed onto the roof with a flask and watched the sky to see which of the three moons would be out. Waxing, waning, dark. I got them wrong twice and the boat grounded on the shallows both times, the bow sticking in the silt like a hand that wouldn't let go.
In March a stranger moored behind us, a woman with a rolled canvas under her arm who asked if she could paint the lock gates. I said the lock keeper would have words. She laughed and said she only wanted the shape of the water while it was high. That night she sat on the roof beside me, and when the moon came up round and clean over the poplars she pressed her palms together and held them up near her chin, the way Mam used to when the lock was full and the boat was safely through. "Nobody's watching," she said. "Go on."
I didn't pray. I held my hands like that anyway, and the water below the gates lifted an inch, then settled, and I understood the chart had never really been about the moon. It was a list of nights when you have to wait and trust the water, and Mam had drawn them in ink so she wouldn't forget that keeping still is often the sensible thing. I took the pencil from the locker and wrote the date beside the full moon. Then I went down to bed.
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