Do I know you? you said. You used to, I said.
You used to draw me into the room and close the door
and kiss and crush me.

But even the picture of Whitman
is not a picture of Whitman.
It is Whitman enhanced.y
when we escaped together, our car on the edge of the field.
Hot dry odor of grass, cut down, curling in the sun.

Falsify the sound of our feet through the stems, crunching--
some fact about our hands,
how we went toward

what I pretended not to know.
Invent a grove,
embellish the dress,

unbuttoned,
tossed to the ground. Fabricate
until we are absolutely certain.

Marjorie Saiser has three books of poetry, most recently Lost in Seward County (Backwaters Press). She has also co-edited two anthologies, including Road Trip , interviews with and a selection of work from writers such as Ted Kooser. Saiser's work has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Georgia Review, and other magazines.