Cocoom used to say that unfocused poeple were like flies.

In the summer, I would wake up early.
The blazing sun, Blinding my squinting eyes.
The Bedroom window was cacked with mud and dirt.
The cracked window was bandages with yellow masking tape.
Dead flies would be decomposing in between the windows.
Buzzing flies would land on my pink and sweaty face.
In frustration, I would scream at the top of my lungs.

In the Kitchen, Cocoom would be laughing to herself.

My brothers would wake with my screaming.
Then would run and jump on Cocoom's bed, where I slept.
They carelessly fought, tripping and falling on me.
In the line of fire, they attacked me without mercy.
Moments passed and then we would sit silently.
We sat breathing heavily, staring at each other.
Listening to the dying flies trapped in the window.

Cocoom and Mushoom sit and talk at the kitchen table, eating.

My brothers and I would all gather aroung the window.
We would watch the struggling flies trying to escape the heat.
Our little fingers would carefully pick them up.
We pulled off their wings one by one.
I thought I could make the flies more focused.
Instead the flies died slowly in the palms of my hands.
Devastated, I would run choking on my sobs, looking for Cocoom.

A waiting Cocoom would sit with open arms, and she would say, "It's not the flies wings that make them unfocused". Then she would point to my head and smile. she would kiss me softly on the forehead to comfort me.

That was the summer of the wingless flies. A lesson I will never forget.

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