• Marías at Sampaguitas

Poetry by Christine Fojas

Not Yours Until



It’s not yours until you bleed

on it, until it tastes

the kiss of Vancouver rain


or stains with the salt

of your tears—or other

fluids—until you decide


it matches your aesthetic,

until they like it on Instagram,

post going viral, until you fold


the tip of a page or write

in the margins, until you cut

the tags and the 30 days pass,


no returns no exchanges,

until it starts to smell like you,

until you forget where


you got it from, until you rip it,

threads dangling,

and sew it back together,


until you gulp it down, tongue chasing

the last drop, until you sing

it out loud, until you remember


every line, or forget it ever

belonged to anyone else,

until the luster fades


and it starts to take on

the imprint of your fingers

and palms, until a part


breaks, until the labels

turn illegible in the wash,

until it follows the shape


of your bones, changes color,

until you stop loving it

and start treating it like air.




Christine Fojas (she/her) 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. She is on Twitter and Instagram as @chrisfojas.

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