Reverberations

Susan Roney-O’Brien

Singing bowl’s song, a low roll,
thunder moving center
pulsates through my palm,
leaps synapses like stones.
By the Stillwater River
three pounds of bees
a marked Italian queen—
whole hive vibrating
while a hummingbird whirrs
against barn window glass
trapped; wings flail, sound
of hail falling
and my heartbeat, how
it shudders against
white cave of bone.

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