The thunderstorm season reveals

the maple tree in our backyard is dying

of fungus. I asked for questions

for my birthday, three months away,

past the summer rain. Something beyond

what’s next? because that answer

is still I don’t know. You admit there is more

to work through. More to understand.

We have yet to settle the scales between hope

and fear. The countdown to 35 lingers

between bodily science and maturity.

We have seen enough people do it wrong.

I see fewer and fewer fireflies each summer.

I remember all the times I have been cruel to my mother.