by Aravah Chaiken
Dear Young Aravah,
We were all so naïve in 2020. We believed the world could be a better place, full of hope, peace, love, and homemade puff pastry. Unfortunately, the sea levels are rising, power is going to people’s heads. I cannot stand on my own two feet! Everyone uses hovering chairs so much that walking has become obsolete. I run every day and get ridiculed for it. I have a government-issued smartphone that gives me a heaping spoonful of propaganda during every meal. The news is all thanks to the government, and the bad is the rebels. Here is a piece of poetry for you, and this is the only time I can write. I cannot bake puff pastry either.
Under the television
Is a layer of truth
But sugarcoated
Sugar makes sweet
But tasteless
And not healthy
A sugarcoated truth
Is merely a lie
No substance
Nor thought
Hidden in its depths
And here’s what I have for you, Aravah of the past. I have been in your past, present, and future. You could say that I know what that is, but is I so much as say Charles Dickens they’ll whisk me off to prison.
I shall not tell you anything of anyone else, for separating families is common at birth. Children go to cold, uncaring mothers. Oh, what would I give to be back home and free?
Love from your future self,
Aravah Chaiken
P.S. Tell our sister, Masua, that I loved her
