He writes about the happiness, jealousy, disdain, and hope he's felt as a poet flipping through past installments of Best American Poetry. He writes about feeling "rather embarrassed" by the first poem of his chosen to be included in the anthology, years ago. He writes about being the editor of Best American Poetry 2015, and the little things you notice when you sign up for that job, for instance:

None of us ever needs to write another poem about crocuses, or croci, or however you prefer to pluralize it. Trust me, we poets have exhausted the poetic potential of the crocus. If any of you can surprise me with a new kind of crocus poem then I will mail you one hundred dollars.

He writes the rules he made for himself about how he was going to select poems this year, like:

Rule #1: I will not choose any poem written by a close friend.

And:

Rule #5: I will pay close attention to the poets and poems that have been underrepresented in the past. So that means I will carefully look for great poems by women and people of color. And for great poems by younger, less established poets. And for great poems by older poets who haven't been previously lauded. And for great poems that use rhyme, meter, and traditional forms.

And then, after he's read thousands of poems and made his selections, something really strange happens. Something Alexie didn't foresee. Something some people are now really pissed off about. I don't keep up with poetry circles, I wasn't aware of the Best American Poetry 2015 brouhaha, I didn't know about the controversy surrounding one of the poems he chose, I have no idea what I would have done if I were in the same position as Alexie, and I think the decision Alexie made and Alexie's explanation for the decision he made are brave and fascinating and right. I'm persuaded. But whoa it's complicated.

You read it and tell me what you think.