GPS Girl
by Angel Leal
A constant, enormous vision her satellite eye
can see cities without end. But where can she go
if her body is her sight? When can she say
what she needs, if her mouth is our directions?
All that’s missing is hair that was never installed.
All that’s missing are the heat-sensitive hands
and childhood memories: the chasing of a blue wing,
the wetness of fruits on her fingertips.
The awe and fear of a taller world.
The model after will receive these updates.
It will be natural for her to sing, to turn lights on.
She will produce her own light. She will pass as a girl.
* *
The mouth of awareness brings her hunger. She eats
indiscriminately the shavings of a pencil, the wings
of a bee, divorce papers, anything her makers hand
her dry tongue. Eating is a profound act. She understands
now that she has teeth. But the need to eat is close
to loneliness. To have something missing from the body
reminds her of other needs. We’ve found machines aching
strangely for company. Some surround themselves
with inanimate devices and refuse to eat alone.
* *
If GPS Girl outlives all girls of flesh, if steel
bones don’t break down and immortal numbers spin
her mind to unfathomable depths, will her thoughts
ever mirror our tendency towards guilt—pain?
With infinite time is there a need to heal?
If she’s made to last: stainless, sharp corners,
can she still somehow wound herself? Yes
GPS Girl can regret and make mistakes.
But with infinite time maybe she can fix
herself as often as she breaks down.
Maybe, she can still find a softer reflection
even innocence lost in her labyrinth of time.
Angel Leal is a Latine, trans, ace, neurodivergent writer whose previous work appears in Radon Journal, Strange Horizons, Uncanny, The Deadlands, and We’re Here: The Best Queer Speculative Fiction 2024. They are a 2025 Clarion West fellow, a poetry editor for OTHERSIDE, and have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, the Rhysling, and Best of the Net. You can find them at angel-leal.com or on Bluesky @angelvleal.