Unhappening

DISPATCHES FROM UTOPIA

by Nora Romelia

This is the wheel I crank to unravel time.

When it spins, the sky flips like a coin: sunset to high noon to sunrise.

When I turn the wheel, shit un-happens, and the me that it made is unshaped as well.

I unravel, first one foot, then the other, then my torso, and the rest of me too.

Then a trusted friend or loved one can pick up the me that is undone.

They wash me in warm soapy water and hang me up to dry in the late summer sunshine.

They take the hanks of the me-to-be, and roll me into a ball of yarn.

And then I am ready to happen again.

The Worm Mother

I’m the star-scatterer, the sky-painter, the leaf-turner and the worm-mother.

I am she who made each painful and ferocious thing.

I am the voice of the wind in the valley. I tuned the bell that rings in the song of the river. It was I who gave the pep talk when I raised the mountain and sent him on the long long journey to crumble into sand and return to the loving arms of the sea.

Do you think of me?

All I think of is you.

Nora Romelia lives in Montréal QC / Tiohtiá:ke. Reach out at [email protected]