I took up crochet last year as a way to both rehab the arm I’d shattered on ice-covered concrete the winter before and to pull myself away from social media. It’s a hobby that requires both hands and my attention so as not to lose count of stitches or lose track of where I am in the pattern. There’s a moment when I’m starting a new piece where I look at the handful of rows I’ve completed and I’m pretty certain I’ve messed something up and will have to unravel it all and start over. Sometimes I do, but more often these days I just trust that what I need will appear as I work.

I had a similar experience in reading Sumita Chakraborty’s Arrow, in the sense that her poems engrossed me, especially the longer ones, and took me to places I didn’t expect but somehow needed to visit—but only if I was paying attention to the patterns that weren’t evident at the start of my reading. The poems in this collection reward close, undistracted reading, and the one I want to focus on here is its titular poem.

Before I tell you more, a quick reminder that in order to receive your early copy of Arrow, read along with the Poetry Book Club, and participate in our exclusive chat with Sumita Chakraborty, you’ll need to subscribe by July 15! (more…)

— 3 days ago