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Poet's Choice

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were not pureed by your selfish misfortune,

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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


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