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The Dictionary

O

obedient obey obituary
object objectify obligatory
obliterate oblivion

O forms in the mouth,
in the throat, above the tongue:

an outward movement of air,
a hollow, round sound.

Open the page at letter O.
See what you find.

Name:
a succession of sounds
to which a face is attached.

The name might as well be spelled
by vowels, clangs of shackles,
consonants, thuds
of fists against skin,
bangs of prison doors, rattle
of cattle trains.

observe obsessed obsolete
obstacle obstinate occupied occur
ocean oculus ocular

Ocular. Eye. Eyewitness.

odious offend offensive
official often old omen
ominous omission only one

Only one. The one.
Every one is the one.
The only one.

They once had bodies,
flesh, voice, life.

Now all that remains
are lists of names,
bones in a cemetery online.

ongoing onslaught on purpose
open operate operative
oppose opposition oppressive

Faces blurred,
eaten by time.

O forms in the mouth
that blows binary dust across
the computer screen,
byte by byte.

Names, names,
enough to populate a small country
of pain.

But do you hear them scream?

opprobrium opprobrious ordain ordeal
order orderly orphan ostracize our

Our. Our Father,
Who art in heaven,
Holy is Thy Name.

My father
and his father and brothers.

Our. Our fathers.
Our grandfathers, uncles, brothers.
Their names.

O forms in my mouth
and in my bones.

O forms in the way my hair follows
the oval of my face,
my father’s forehead,
my grandfather’s nose.

My blood carries Os.

Search: trialofcommunism.com/
testimonials/
arrested, tortured, imprisoned, killed/
dictionary/N-O/

Scroll down to Orasel,
my maiden name.
It means small town.

Oust out outcast outlaw outwear
over overflow overkill overwhelm

O, the sound of wind
winding through the hollow of bones.

Chain links, chained Os.
Eyes. The round eyes,
the fixated pupils of death.

Who stole their years,
their lives? Who?

Letters ignite into funeral fires.

The dead are baking ovals of bread.

My grandmother places
torn pieces of meat
into the gaping O
of the pot on the stove.

Oh, the stories untold.

Overrun overswarm overthrow
overturn own own up

My own drops,
small drops
in an ocean of Os.

I owe them words,
own, own up.

Own up to the Os.

2015 Charter Oak Award for Best Historical Finalist.
Originally published on The Spark on 6/24/15.

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