One Night in February


This poem was written by Marianne Velvart


I had a dream that Christmas was here again

Squeezed itself back

Through a sash window in the shortest month

Caught me with guard down

With the family round, hungry and expectant

And me in tacitly panicked, ad-lib mode

Acting unflustered, dutiful.

I evoke the dream in present tense

Not that Time exists beyond a linear mental construct

But waste none now because the family’s here

I cannot afford my penchant for analysis

Whilst there are mouths to be fed.

In the absence of Goose, a chicken will do for the table

And even as I spin and weave motherly magic

Time gains upon me in the race

Stuns me a sudden severance between feet and ground.

How did it happen? How did I get here, am I here at all?

I trace the origins of the reverie

To the recent past when

Time warped, turned back in on itself

Followed curved space, blurred then deceptively resolved

Returned me to the spot all too soon

And lucidly dreaming, I likened it to life

Asking ‘will it be just like this at the end?’

A series of blinks and the ride, over

The last scene arriving way too fast

Staged in a room without tinsel dressing

My hands curled around strings of floating recalls

Weaken their grip and glide

Away through the skylight

Of this life

This plane

This shortest interlude

In the vastest scape

Where in the end love’s all that matters

Caught only in dreams

Till there.