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Writer's pictureMarías at Sampaguitas

Poem by Christine Fojas

WHICH NOW


Touch the spines in the library,

open the brains.

Dusty, mildewed pages,

knife-edged.

Which now

are you living in?


What you have dreamed about

they have already built.

Terapolises spreading upwards

and outwards, in many vectors.

The world in an overlay of networks:

a million tributaries,

a cascade. Machines

that think in circles,

that talk in light. Cuts

lenses 2.3 diopters thick

in concave curves. Stops

the train for snow. Opens the door,

closes the faucet. Pumps

brake fluid and pinpoints

your exact location

in relation to everywhere else.

No need for constellations.

The future is closer

than it appears in the

funhouse mirror.


Yet you live in a patch

of the past: a creaky house

with bad insulation,

work as a gear in an obsolete system,

perch on a Jurassic monolith

lumbering, slow to grow,

already toppling over.


Which now

are you living in?

We have outsourced all our thinking.

We are animals again.

Reblog cat videos,

pet Roombas, whisper prayers

to shiny rocks.

And draw fears

on cave walls

while the world ends.

Which now


are you living in?




Christine Fojas is a Filipino-Canadian hailing from Las Piñas City and currently living in Metro Vancouver. She has a BA in Comparative Literature from University of the Philippines and works as a library technician at Douglas College. A list of her publications can be found at her website. She is also on Twitter as @chrisfojas. She is a regular contributor for Marias at Sampaguitas.

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