The Electric Daughter     -- Catherine Hunter

all winter in your daughter's bedroom 

the air thickens with ions 

she lies on the bed, 

brooding over long division, 

friendship and betrayal 

she strokes the cat 

fur crackles 

underneath her fingers

when you turn out the light 

she lifts her arms 

to reach your face, 

her nightgown shedding 

temporary stars 

each time she moves 

her kiss, 

the prick of a needle 

on your lip

you shake out the bedclothes 

and the green blanket ripples above her 

bright with phosphorescence in the dark room

you can't absorb what you see in that moment 

long legs, the sudden, unmistakable shape 

of a woman there on the sheet

all night you dream of angry honey bees 

swarming in a cloud outside your lighted window

meanwhile, the electric daughter 

sleepwalks 

through the house, gold sparks

falling from her hair 

like rain

everything she touches 

hurts her

from Lunar Wake, Turnstone Press (1994).