Fine line black tattoo of a wine glass with a curled rim on the inner forearm, shown against a dark sleeve.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Wine glass on inner forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black tattoo of a wine glass with a curled, stylised top sits on the inner forearm. The linework is thin and single-weight, with the bowl drawn as an open oval and the stem ending in a flared foot. The pale skin contrasts with the dark clothing behind, and the design is centred in the frame.

Fine line Forearm Glass

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You find the glass in the hayloft on the morning the thaw finally comes, wedged between two bales where the mice have been at the straw. It is the only one left of the set your grandmother kept in the dresser, the others sold at the church sale or broken in the move. The stem flares at the foot like a bell, and the bowl has a hairline crack you can feel with your thumb but not see.

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Outside, the yard is slick with ice, and the ewes are bawling from the top field where the Hebden dog has been running them. You wrap the glass in a feed sack and carry it down the lane with your breath going ahead of you. Mrs Caddick at the end cottage has been alone since November, and she has not come to the door for the new lambs' bread.

She answers in her slippers, sees the sack, and says nothing. You unwrap it on her draining board. She runs one finger round the rim, the way she used to when she counted the ewes into the pen, and says it was always meant for the cheap port at Christmas, not for keeping in a dark loft.

You pour the last of the sloe gin from your flask, a finger's worth, and she holds the glass up to the window. Light goes through the cracked bowl and lands on the table in a pale oval. You both drink standing up. Neither of you says his name, and the frost on the window keeps growing its own patterns.