it is summer 2022. we have ipads and airpods, watches that can detect your breathing and health, call 911 when you fall. dogs communicate with buttons, colorful pills take your pain away, boxes light up with loved ones miles away. it is 2022 my grandmother tells me she had more rights than i do. than i will now. she says it’ll be like before and denounces the men that made this happen. it is 2022 and some people tell me i’m silly for saying i don’t want a bunch of mini mes running around and i ask them where will they run? with a recession coming down the street and a mother who picked teaching, inflation too high for raises to meet, where will the children i am told must come out of me, run? besides their school with code reds, lockdowns and intruders carrying military grade weapons to use against their bodies, i notice no body is safe and i ask where will they run? it is 2022 and my grandmother jokes about returning to her home country. she says she had more rights than me.
Crysta Garcia is a teaching artist born, raised, and based in New York City. As an educator, she has had the pleasure of working with Community Word Project, the Aspen Institute, WriteOn NYC, and other organizations that provide arts education to various school programs. She is a 2022 graduate of The New School’s Creative Writing Program, and now holds her MFA in poetry.
FLASH GLASS: A MONTHLY PUBLICATION OF FLASH FICTION, PROSE POETRY, & MICRO ESSAYS