Out Catching Flies

She is out catching flies,

out in the garden,

away from the mustard yellow walls

and polyester bedspreads with the little red flowers,

away from the pull cords

and dark-skinned women with thick

Brooklyn accents.

She is watching the water

fall,

pool up and fall

across the cracked cement

she is not allowed to walk upon.

She is out catching flies

catching them one by one

in her hands

grasping at air,

swatting the invisible,

seeing what nobody else

can

see.

At night,

she will bring her bounty to her room

and put them in a sealed glass jar.

She will watch them climb the glass walls

over and over

only to slide back down to the bottom.

She will watch them do this

until they are too tired to try anymore.

Then,

she will watch them 

suffocate

and 

die.