Why is it

that you always buy

a package of sour gummy worms

and an Arizona Iced Tea

at the gas station?

Every time, without fail,

you spend your coins and cash

on the same two items,

your ambrosia and nectar

that will immortalize you forever,

bathed in the fluorescent lights

of the 7-11.


Why is it

that we always accidentally

end up at the airport?

We drive without a map,

no destination in mind,

and yet it has happened at least three times.

Three times we have ended up

in places we were not meant to be,

yet it feels more right

than any scripture that’s been written,

traveling forever into eternity.


Why is it

that Denny’s feels safer

than any house I have lived in?

The booth we sit in

is more comfortable than my bed,

more protective than a mother’s hug,

a sanctuary for those who wander.

You’ve had four strawberry lemonades

in the last fifteen minutes,

and I can still taste their sweet scent,

a thousand flowering plants

with roots that will consume

my decaying body.


Why is it

that you always wear

purple Crocs?

With socks, no less,

as you stand at the top of the playground

barely visible in the darkness.

I will reach you

with the rusted chains of the swing set,

the moon as my halo

and the sharp air as my wings.

Our conversation flows

like the hymns of heavenly choirs

as we claim the kingdom we have made

in Sunset Park.


Why is it

that the dull stars of the suburbs,

an echo of the Big Dipper,

and a whisper of Orion’s Belt,

are more beautiful than all the galaxies

that God could ever make?

We lay in a random soccer field,

the dew dampening our clothes,

simply existing in this world

with the light polluted sky

and the same five stars we see every night.


All at once I realize:

There is no place I would rather be

than here with you

at 2 a.m.


Rey Tello

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