When the edge gets smudged.

When I was a child my home was at the edge of town. Beyond my block past the eggplant was the prarie. Farmland. Not a house or store or antenna to be seen. I used to sit there and stare as a child and imagine running off into the field and disappearing. running away and finding something new. When I came home the praries edge had moved. Further from me and less visible. As the city grows I can see myself becoming enveloped in the heart of this industrial park and residential sectors. I used to see land and sky and endlessness. The more walls that are built the more trapped we become. Somewhere at the center of this city someday will be the plot of land on which my home once stood. If all I can do is stain the ground with who I am momentarily then that is all I can do.