Space shape: my suitable suit of flight: a cloud

of dust with wisps of gravity brushing

fingertips like almost-lovers who can’t

decide if touching is worth the risk of becoming

something new

I became something new once

or twice—though always a woman with too many

facial expressions and a preference

for red lipstick and tall boots on my short legs

Once: I was so at home in my space shape that

reality tore holes in itself to stand next to me

and unravel. Twice: I, fragments, I, sharp threads

through femoral artery—don’t unstitch reality

or I’ll bleed out. What volume of blood develops

its own gravity? What propels us towards a red ribbon

of rage?

Which version of me found ugliness in asymmetry? When did I

look into the peculiarity of a space shape and realize that

resistance is a quality of atmosphere?

I am not bound to the petty clutch of air and earth;

this body does not hold me inside physics

In my own shape, blocks and curves achieve

motion in a vacuum: an illusion of repurposed pigment

But look again; I created this container of cosmology,

painted the hull liminal yellow. In the engine room,

whole hearts are shovelled into the propulsion system.

In the corner, an unearthly creature pulls

fresh-grown hearts from its knees

and adds them to the pile.

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JESSICA COLES (she/her) is a poet and songwriter from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, where she lives with her family and an assortment of critters. Her work has appeared in print and online at Prairie Fire, Moist Poetry Journal, Full Mood Mag, atmospheric quarterly, Stone Circle Review, CV2, The Fiddlehead, Capital City Press Anthology (Vol. 4), Ghost City Review, slips slips, and elsewhere. She has two chapbooks through Prairie Vixen Press, and her third chapbook, Amphibiography, is forthcoming from Big Pond Rumours Press in summer 2026. Find her on: Bluesky & IG