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There’s a feistiness to Ruth Maus’s Valentine that I love—not irreverence or contrarianism for its own sake, but a dissatisfaction with dominant perspectives. Look at the world again from this angle, the poems insist: How does it feel to be a fossil? Don’t people play possum, too? What makes you think Humpty Dumpty wasn’t a girl? Maus poses these sneakily metaphysical questions and then proceeds to answer them, with brio and poise, in the most extravagantly musical language.
-Eric McHenry, author of Odd Evening, Poet Laureate of Kansas, 2015-2017