my teenage daughter

the alarm clock in her stomach sounds
precisely at 5:55 am. i hit snooze
until an ally she's never met
ascends at its pre-set 6:15 and
by then
her throat is sore and
she is trying to open the bedroom door through a gap
by the floor, hoarsely screaming all the while.

sometimes i hear her burst about an open room,
exercising, i suppose. later, proudly looking at the world
through a window and, still later
sleekly stalking along between the curtains
and the French door.

it has come to my attention that this has caught attention.

she is a sheltered girl who stays in-
doors, biding her time on the couch
or on the bed asleep like
a duck with its bill tucked
neatly into its feathers. she hunts
springtime spiders, watches crime procedurals
on television and begs on hind
legs for canned pumpkin.

but attention comes with bristly outdoor fur
and unclipped nails.
the tramps of streets with their too-long glances
at the French door. they speak in games and
gazes and sandpaper tongues without discipline or curfew.

today i found a dead bird
on the stoop. we are
parents in a sea of sharks.