by Eric Vithalani
We don’t want to know the difference
between red and green. We want to lie
next to you and dream of a city of lights
like we did when we were young.
Those nights when the wind and ocean
were not so loud, we could hear you
roll over the coarse red sand. My batteries
are dying. It’s getting dark, you cried.
A storm is coming. A dust storm. We want
to see you back at the coffee shop,
guess what you ordered. But now
this feels like a test. We want
silver lamé panels that sparkle
like teeth. No response since Sol 5111,
we whisper. If we say it too loud,
it means it’s true. We want to send
a postcard, one with big bold blue
letters that says, Greetings from Earth!
Wish You Were Here! And off in the margins:
palm trees and children playing,
the Eiffel Tower, the Mumbai skyline,
the Golden Gate Bridge, Big Ben,
Victoria Falls, and we would XO
and XO all over it. One of us thought
to get the ramshackle ladder
out of the barn, we could go searching.
A storm is coming, shakes us to our knees,
and that ladder is unclimbable.
Eric Vithalani teaches English at Coastal Carolina
Community College and holds a MFA from the University
of North Carolina-Wilmington; his home base is in Surf City,
North Carolina. His work has appeared Lilies and
Cannonballs Review, Kakalak: An Anthology of
Carolina Poets, Blood Orange Review, inscape, Sliver
of Stone, Phantom Drift Limited, and other journals.
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Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary
Volume 14, Number 1
Copyright © 2019
by Leah Browning, Editor.
All future rights to material
published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors