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Dad reads aloud. I follow his finger across the page.

sometimes his finger moves past words, tracing white space.

He makes the Moon say something new every night

to his deaf son who slurs his speech.

Sometimes his finger moves past words, tracing white space.

Tonight he gives the Moon my name, but I can't say it,

his deaf son who slurs his speech.

Dad taps the page, says, try again.

Tonight he gives the Moon my name, but I can't say it.

I say Rain-an Akabok. He laughs.

Dad taps the page, says, try again,

but I like making him laugh. I say my mistake again.

I say Rain-an Akabok. He laughs,

says, Raymond you're something else.

I like making him laugh. I say my mistake again.

Rain-an Akabok. What else will help us?

He says, Raymond you're something else.

I'd like to be the Moon, the bear, even the rain.

Rain-an Akabok, what else will help us

hear each other, really hear each other?

I'd like to be the Moon, the bear, even the rain.

Dad makes the Moon say something new every night

and we hear each other, really hear each other.

As Dad reads aloud, I follow his finger across the page.

Happy Birthday Moon

Raymond Antrobus

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Dzvinia Orlowsky

Wine of Angels

translated from the Ukrainian written by
Natalka Bilotserkivets