I Told My Grandfather My Name — Split Lip Magazine

Multi-colored tattoo machine that dissolves into multi-colored droplets then loops back to tattoo machine.

My grandfather died this morning.
I had not seen him in over five years.
Not since coming out as trans
to who I used to call my family.
I dreamt about him last night.
He was standing in his old, yellow kitchen
tattooing on himself, in blue ink,
the names of all his kids and grandchildren.
He was staring at my present-day face.
He said he didn’t remember so well.
Not since the dementia—
the disease that kept him in the care
of people who didn’t want to know me.
He asked for my name. I cleared my throat.
He squinted and leaned in close,
silently, as though considering language
for the very first time.
I told my grandfather my name.
He whispered it onto
the inside of his forearm
and said goodbye.

Joshua Jennifer Espinoza (@sadqueer4life) is a trans woman poet. Her work has been featured in Poetry Magazine, the American Poetry Review, Southeast Review, The Rumpus, Poem-a-day at poets.org, and elsewhere. She is the author of I’m Alive / It Hurts / I Love It (Big Lucks 2019) and There Should Be Flowers (The Accomplices 2016). She holds an MFA in poetry from UC Riverside and currently teaches creative writing. Jennifer lives in California with her wife, poet/essayist Eileen Elizabeth, and their dog and cat.