An Endless Sunday Poem by Valentin Busuioc

I dreamed about my dad
He was 53 - my age
the same age he was when he left us

he told me
wake up, boy
let us go to the stock fair
the cow is waiting at the gate
let us sell it
we will make a pretty penny out of it
let us buy a scarf for your mother
Jules Verne's books for you
a new suit for myself
and spend the rest on cigarettes

and I woke up
I would not say no to my dad

but when I opened my eyes
I saw a garden full of flowers
even the cow my dad was talking about
and the cow approached me
let me scratch its throat
then, of happiness,
turned into a cloud

and when I looked closer
I saw my dad
a Seraphim was carrying him on his back
and telling him

do not be afraid
put your hands on my wings
keep them loose
imagine you are flying
after all, it is Sunday
like the day you came
which is not over yet

but my father did not listen to him
he was trying to light the same cigarette
shouting at me

stop dreaming, boy
the clouds are gathering in the sky
and there is no one to see them

let us go
we will make a pretty penny out of its
we will buy a scarf for your mother
and Jules Verne's books for you

let us go
it is Sunday
Death is resting, too

her hands are loose
an angel is teaching her to fly