Colour neo-traditional tattoo on the forearm of a woman with closed eyes, her head enclosed in a fishbowl with goldfish swimming through her dark hair.

Woman with goldfish in a bowl on a forearm

Neo-trad · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A woman with her eyes closed sits inside a teal fishbowl, with orange goldfish swimming among her black hair above her head. She wears an orange top with a keyhole neckline, and the bold black outlines and smooth shading give the piece a clean, graphic finish. Bright orange, teal and black dominate the composition, which fills the forearm from the bowl at the top to the bottom of the top.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The goldfish got out of the bowl the same summer the runner beans failed, which my mother took as a verdict on the whole household. Nobody saw them go. We found them first in the water butt by the shed, then in the gutter under the gate, then one morning in the rain barrel, orange as marmalade, turning slow circles among the wrigglers.

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Aunt Winifred had kept the bowl on the kitchen windowsill for thirty years, and she had talked to the fish more than to any of us. When she went into the care home in March she left me three things: a key to the potting shed, a tin of seed packets, and instructions that were mostly about the fish. Keep them out of the sun, she wrote. They dislike being looked at while they eat.

I did not keep them out of the sun. I let them into the big pond under the damson tree, where the lilies had gone to weed, and I raked the duckweed back with a garden fork and sat on the edge with my shoes off. By August there were thirty of them, flashing under the leaves whenever a wasp skimmed the surface. The neighbour's cat watched from the wall for a week and then gave up in disgust.

The last one, a fat fantail with a torn fin, I caught in a net on the first cold morning and carried up to the windowsill, where the bowl was still standing, still clean. I filled it from the pond with a jug. When I set it down the water rocked and settled, and in the glass I could see the garden turned upside down, the damson boughs, the pale sky, and my own shape bending close, waiting for something to rise out of the weeds and look back.

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