Josslyn Turner is a trans queer poet, writer, and abstract artist. She’s studying English Literature at Modesto Junior College. She’s working toward a BA in English and an MFA in poetry. Her poems have appeared in Journal Nine, Oyster River Pages, Voice of Eve, and elsewhere. She lives in Waterford, California where she co-parents two awesome boys.
On Getting My First Massage in the Loft of the Tri-Chromatic Gallery
blows like baby’s
I inhale the silence.
meld muscle & skin
& Cannabis oil.
from car crash
to hanging from rope—
in this moment.
Underneath her hands,
my skin tingles
like tiny diamonds
in my calm
Her tinted glasses and black jacket match her cool persona.
She raises a tiny hand to give a high-five, says,
“How ya doin’?” in her best Brooklyn impression.
“I’m good,” I say and ask her the same.
“Awesome,” she says with two thumbs up.
She looks down to speak to someone who is not there.
“I just met a new friend,” she says, shaking my hand.
“He’s a cool guy.”
She doesn’t remember last spring
when she asked if I were a boy or a girl.
Girl was my answer. Awesome was hers.
I held my chest to keep my heart from spilling out.
“I’m a girl, remember,” I tell her now.
“Yeah,” she says. “You’re a girl.”
She looks away in the distance of the schoolyard.
I don’t follow her gaze because the sunlight
touches her brown face for a Pulitzer Prize shot,
and I don’t have a camera.