cul-de-sac

We drove west on 71

Left at the used car lot with the garish fluttering tinsel

Then a right after the hill

There it was—our cul-de-sac

Fresh tarmac and residential curbs

Vacant lots of dry grass waiting for a neighborhood

This is where I loved you

Heads rested on bodies to look at the stars

We never got closer than this

I went back this year and there were houses

Tilde is a writer, textile artist, and part-time gallerina living in Rome. You can find her reluctant online presence on Substack.