Lost Object Former 2003 Iraq War interpreters, Current role-players in War Game To taste it would make me North++++Where is that acre of sweet marrow Bone-meadows snowier each day green curls into knife Iraq is ripe we carry it through the simulacra of the woods At this time of year, you could wash orchards in the icecreek till your wrist aches cold and absolutely the mouth of knowledge++if your neighbor learns about what you’re doing with the Americans—careful now, this is war—he might eat you you are the last fruit left on this street War Game, Mock Middle Eastern Village When dead, lie shirtless in a clearing whisper your eulogy to your partner until the blinking blue God- Gun reboots us just as the sun comes up.   Iraqi role-players are weeping over a bodiless coffin in a remote American wood. In a pre-deployment simulation some military contractors call “The Crying Room,” the women perform for three days straight, howling their lamentation for successive units of training US soldiers. In this quadrant of rooms in …