Singing Bowl

The singing bowl rings
Bless this space, it whispers
through the trees, the weeds, the bamboo cane.
But it didn’t bless that chair with no seat
or the hub cap gong
it didn’t bless the neighbours when everything went wrong.

The singing bowl rings
Bless the heart that still needs mending, it hums
like the broken trowel through constant weeding
the only thing that has no ending
as if to remind us we are part of this circle
and despite our faith or lack of
the earth is more important and will live on.

The singing bowl rings
Bless the mind that can’t stop wheeling, it howls
louder than the thunderstorms that tore down
roofs and flooded streets
making the air cold, clear, clean
allowing me to breathe.

The singing bowl rings
Bless the ones who cannot feel, it mourns
and makes non believers question 
believers doubt, and only offers advice
to those here, in the moment, those who know the grass and the ash
those who are still.

The singing bowl rings
Bless this space, it cries
and through the wind it sings
harmonising with the pulse in my veins.
As the vibrations tickle my palm
and in the middle of the sweating city, 
I am calm.

By Kimberly Jamison 

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