The Last Waste Ground by Sophia Osadcha

Do you want to go look at the waste ground?

He asked.

So we are climbing up to the parking lot rooftop behind the supermarket

Trapped by a fence, the waste ground can only be seen from above.

Two months ago, I moved to my childhood neighbourhood:

It has grown up as well

Where used to be mud and rocks

And blasts of wind that nearly lift you up

And swamp-lakes where frogs, mallards, and coots chanted

Is now the place of towering concrete blocks,

Lively bakeries, coffee shops and beauty salons,

Hurrying "marshrutka" buses.

The waste ground used to be the whole world here.

Now it is tamed behind the supermarket.

"You know", I say,

"It's as if you grew up in a place

Where the wild deer were just walking around

But now it's all built up

So you go to look at them at the zoo".

The sun sets down behind the waving weeds of the last waste ground.

We descend and head to buy groceries.