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Poet's Choice
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were not pureed by your selfish misfortune,
how to leave the house for the first time in two years.
It's both agonizing and funny for an invalid to joke about his "bruising marathons of bird watching." And Guest's humor often disarms me before he ambushes me with longing. Losing a potential love makes his joy in a mid-January burst of spring both funny and sad in this wry poem:
The Lives of the Optimists
So the jonquils are fooled into flaming up
though it's January. The bricks soak
in heat like ruddy sponges.
Walking home, I hide
within whatever's radiant.
A bird whose name I've never bothered
to learn sings its farewell
to winter. It's January. Tomorrow
we'll grieve. Or the next




