Speaking Up in Verse: Black Girls’ Voices in The Poet X

The cover of The Poet X

Elizabeth Acevedo’s The Poet X (2018) is a young adult novel in verse that follows the story of a young woman named Xiomara. The poems that make up the novel are framed as entries in Xiomara’s secret journal, where she writes poetry that she shares with no one. Over the course of the novel, Xiomara struggles to navigate high school as a young woman who experiences sexual harassment and often clashes with her strict mother. She develops a relationship with a boy in her class, joins a poetry club, and eventually begins to perform her poetry in front of her community. Her experiences are individual, but informed by the fact that she is a young Black and Latina woman. In the United States, stereotypes and negative media images of Black girls and girls of color contribute to the day-to-day and systemic racism that these girls face. Acevedo uses slam poetry, a form uniquely capable of elevating the voices of young people, to center the voice of a Black girl in a society that silences and essentializes Black girls and women.

In the United States, damaging stereotypes of Black girls and women have existed since the era of enslavement, shifting to accommodate changing times (Dagbovie-Mullins 749). Many of these images serve to hypersexualize Black women and girls. In the present day, media images of Black femininity infantilize Black women and portray Black girls as overly mature. The conflation of Black womanhood and girlhood and the stereotyping of both has damaging consequences for Black girls. As Sika A. Dagbovie-Mullins points out in her article “Pigtails, Ponytails, and Getting Tail: The Infantilization and Hyper-Sexualization of African American Females in Popular Culture” (2013), the public perception of Black girls as sexually developed and aggressive has led people to defend their victimization. Online commenters responding to musician R. Kelly’s assault of a minor justified his actions, citing the supposed maturity of the Black girl he abused (745-6). Dagbovie-Mullins points out that many people didn’t see a problem with Kelly’s actions because they believe

that an adolescent’s physical maturity is reason enough to believe that she is emotionally ready for sexual autonomy. This harmful and skewed reasoning reflects a national troubling tendency to view black adolescent females as sexually savvy and therefore responsible themselves for the sexualization and exploitation of their bodies. (746)

Dagbovie-Mullins points out that multiple “sexual scripts” control depictions of Black women in the United States (747). The supposed sexual “savvy” of Black girls is perpetuated through the trope of the “sexy schoolgirl,” which infantilizes Black women and blurs the lines between Black womanhood and girlhood. Dagbovie-Mullins considers this trope a spin-off of the “freak.” While the “freak” can theoretically derive power from her sexual aggression, the “sexy schoolgirl” can not, and a young girl certainly can not derive power from a sexual performance beyond her maturity (747).

In The Poet X, Acevedo engages with the issue of the sexualization of Black girls by portraying Xiomara’s encounters with hypersexualization. At the beginning of the book Xiomara writes about the beginning of summer in a poem titled “Stoop-Sitting.” In the poem, a group of men catcall Xiomara, saying,

‘Ayo, Xiomara, you need to start wearing dresses like that!’

‘Shit, you’d be wifed up before going back to school.’

‘Especially knowing you church girls are all freaks.’ (4)

The offensive diction that the men use demonstrates that Xiomara is sexualized and objectified because she, in the words of her mother, has “‘a little too much body for such a young girl’” (5). One man says that Xiomara could be “wifed up” before school starts, implying that her attractiveness will help her to achieve a goal of womanhood more valuable than education: marriage. Another man undermines the domestic connotations of “wife” by implying that Xiomara is a “freak.” He uses a trope that is, as Dagbovie-Mullins points out, primarily applied to Black girls and women, who are seen as sexually aggressive. To further complicate matters, the men believe Xiomara to be a freak because she is religious. Her religion requires her to remain chaste, but the men read this as a sign that she has a pent up sexuality available to the first man who tries to access it. The men who catcall Xiomara read her body, the physically developed body of a young Black woman, as a sign of her readiness to fulfill the demeaning sexual roles they attribute to (Black) womanhood. They negate her childhood and diminish her personhood.

Xiomara’s experience with the cat-callers is an example of how media representation can create and/or perpetuate negative stereotypes that then have tangible consequences on the lives of Black girls. The negative perception of Black girls in the United States leads not only to sexual harassment and abuse but also to disproportionate punishment and unfair treatment. In 2017, an important report from the Center on Poverty and Inequality at Georgetown Law shed light on the unequal treatment Black girls receive in the United States. The report, titled “Girlhood Interrupted: The Erasure of Black Girls’ Childhood,” demonstrated that adults in the United States believe that Black girls need less nurturing, protection, support, and comfort and that Black girls are more independent and know more about “adult topics” such as sex (1). In essence, they do not treat Black girls as children. The process by which children are perceived as or forced to act like adults is known as “adultification” (4). Black children in the United States have experienced adultification since the era of enslavement, when enslaved children were punished for displaying age-appropriate behaviors (4). Children in the United States have come to be viewed, both socially and legally, as not yet mature and therefore innocent. However, this construct of childhood has been applied primarily to white children, and Black children have been denied the same leniency (2-3). They are more likely to receive harsher punishment in school and to receive more punitive treatment in the juvenile justice system (9, 12).

In the process by which negative media portrayals and historical stereotypes become negative perceptions that lead to unequal treatment, the actual voices of Black girls are silenced. In The Poet X, Acevedo speaks back against such damaging images of Black girls by allowing Xiomara to tell her own story. By centering Xiomara’s voice and her own articulations of her thoughts and emotions, Acevedo allows a young Black woman to push back against the harassment she faces and express the complexity of navigating her transition to adolescence. When Xiomara receives attention from men, she experiences a “sancocho of emotions” (32). In the poem “After,” Acevedo uses anaphora to emphasize the gut-punching regularity of sexual harassment in Xiomara’s life:

It happens when I’m at bodegas.

It happens when I’m at school.

It happens when I’m on the train. […]

It happens when I wear shorts.

It happens when I wear jeans.

It happens when I stare at the ground.

It happens when I stare ahead. (52-3)

The parallel structure of the lines reinforces Xiomara’s helplessness: no matter what she does, the result is the same. The sexualization of her body by strangers simultaneously adultifies her— sometimes her abusers are “grown-ass men” — and strips her of agency. Through Xiomara’s reaction to the attention she receives from men, Acevedo depicts a Black girl not as invulnerable and sexually mature but as a victimized girl with a strong voice attempting to navigate adolescence.

Acevedo uses the genre of slam poetry to elevate Xiomara’s voice, and to demonstrate one path by which marginalized youth can gain refuge and agency as they begin to understand their identities in an unjust society. In their article “Slam Poetry: An Artistic Resistance Toward Identity, Agency, and Activism” (2016), Gholnecsar Muhammad and Lee Gonzalez articulate the multiple ways in which slam poetry can empower young people. First, slam poetry communities are spaces of refuge within which youth can learn to understand their identities. They write, “Slam provides an avenue to explore the world and self. It feels important in a way that other literary experiences may not be able to do” (450). Secondly, slam provides young people with a “platform to share the ideas, values, and beliefs they negotiate, which provides a sense of control in their struggle for identity” (450). This gives them a sense of agency they may not be able to access elsewhere. Finally, slam poetry creates an opportunity for young people to engage in activism. Because slam poetry is open to direct political expression and is performed, it can be a form of activism. As Lee and Muhammad write, “Language is used to warrant social change and because there is an audience and a critique of the world, it is a social and collective process” (450). Young people, especially marginalized young people, can engage in slam poetry in order to understand their identities both individually and within a wider social sphere, to gain agency in relation to those identities, and to participate in activism.

Acevedo also depicts slam poetry as an empowering genre for young people. In the process of writing and eventually gaining the courage to perform her poetry, Xiomara benefits in all of the ways outlined by Lee and Muhammad. Throughout her poems, Xiomara questions various aspects of her identity— her body and how it is perceived, whether or not she is a poet, her attractions and desires, her friendships, her family relationships. The process of writing helps her to articulate her emotions, and the process of performing helps her to express her voice within a community that will listen. It is through poetry that Xiomara attempts to make sense of the way society sexualizes her body. When Xiomara is sexually harassed, she feels an urge “[t]o grab my notebook, / and write, and write, and write / all the things I wish I could have said” (53). Poetry is a space in which Xiomara can express the thoughts and feelings that she can not safely express in other ways. However, this expression is incomplete without performance. Xiomara is only honest with herself, not with her community. This is evidenced in poems titled “Rough Draft” and “What I Actually Turn In,” which recur throughout the book (39-41, 126-7,  179-80, 244-8). In her first drafts, Xiomara writes honest poems in response to prompts. However, she turns in polished prose that does not contain her true feelings on the subject. Until she performs her poetry, Xiomara does not feel that she can be open about her actual thoughts and emotions.

Through performing her poetry, Xiomara finds a supportive community in which her voice is heard. In the poem “At the New York Citywide Slam,” Xiomara finally performs onstage in front of her family and friends.

With Ms. Galiano’s assistance: I let the poem rise from my heart,

With Twin helping me practice: I hand it over like a present I’ve had gift wrapped,

With a brand-new notebook: I perform like I deserve to be there;

With Aman’s (and J. Cole’s) inspiration: I don’t see the standing ovation,

With YouTube and English class: I don’t see Caridad and Isabelle cheering, or

With Caridad holding my hand: Aman and Twin dapping each other up,

With Mami and Papi in the front row: I don’t see Father Sean in his collar smiling,

With Father Sean in the audience: I don’t see Papi telling people “Esa es mi hija.”

With Isabelle and the club cheering: I look at Mami and I give her a nod:


I stand on stage and say a poem. There is power in the word. (Acevedo 353)

Acevedo uses the split form of the poem to highlight how the act of performing poetry is both a deeply individual experience of expressing one’s voice and also an act of relying on and creating community. The phrases on the right hand side of the colons all begin with “I,” and can be read as a standalone poem, highlighting Xiomara’s individuality as she stands on stage. When Xiomara “let[s] the poem rise from [her] heart” she assumes agency and expresses her voice. Throughout the phrases that begin with “I,” Xiomara repeats that she doesn’t see her supporters in the audience: the rest of the world falls away and she is alone with her voice. The phrases on the left hand side of the colons are dependent clauses that don’t all line up with the phrases that follow them, exaggerating their interdependency. All beginning with the word “with,” these phrases emphasize that Xiomara could not have achieved what she did without the support of her teacher, her brother, her boyfriend, her inspirations, her best friend, her parents, her priest, and her slam poetry club. They also emphasize the communal nature of performance poetry: it is the audience that gives a voice meaning by hearing it. The “power in the word” derives from the fact that it is heard. In this poem, Acevedo emphasizes the unique nature of slam poetry as a genre that can help a young Black woman find her individual place within a wider community.

Acevedo performs her poetry

Acevedo, a slam poet herself, makes use of the verse novel to elevate the voice of a young Black woman and to provide young people with a “tangible” way to interact with and perhaps be inspired by slam poetry (Grochowski). In an interview with Sara Grochowski, Acevedo says that she decided to write a novel when she realized her performed poems were not something that young people could physically “carry” with them (Grochowski). Writing in verse was also important to her. In a different interview with Sylvia Vardell, Acevedo states,

I knew from the moment I started the manuscript that I wanted to write [Xiomara’s] story in verse, not only because she herself was a poet, but because it was important for the story to be as close to the character as possible. (35)

Poetry allowed Acevedo to center Xiomara’s voice and perspective without distraction. Through the immediacy and complexity of Xiomara’s voice, Acevedo counters damaging images of Black girlhood in the United States. Xiomara’s experiences do not stand for the experiences of all Black girls. Instead, they demonstrate exactly what is missing from media representations that erase the voices of Black girls and women.


Works Cited

Acevedo, Elizabeth. The Poet X. HarperCollins, 2018.

Dagbovie-Mullins, Sika A. “Pigtails, Ponytails, and Getting Tail: The Infantilization and Hyper-Sexualization of African American Females in Popular Culture.” Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 46, no. 4, 2013, pp. 745-771.

Epstein, Rebecca, Jamilia J. Blake and Thalia González. “Girlhood Interrupted: The Erasure of Black Girls’ Childhood.” Georgetown Law Center on Poverty and Inequality. 2017. https://www.law.georgetown.edu/poverty-inequality-center/wp-content/uploads/sites/14/2017/08/girlhood-interrupted.pdf

Grochowski, Sarah. “Q & A with Elizabeth Acevedo.” Publisher’s Weekly, 6 March 2018. https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/childrens/childrens-authors/article/76224-q-a-with-elizabeth-acevedo.html

Muhammad, Gholnecsar and Lee Gonzalez. “Slam Poetry: An Artistic Resistance Toward Identity, Agency, and Activism.” Equity & Excellence in Education, vol. 49, no. 4, 2016, pp. 440-453.

Vardell, Sylvia M. “New Voices in Poetry.” Book Links, vol. 28, no. 1, 2018, pp. 34-37.


The Power of Declaration

Speech is not easy in the face of tragedy. Words can’t capture the depths of grief, but they can circle slowly at its edges and, in their circling, evoke the empty center. In “February 26, 2012/In Memory of Trayvon Martin,” published in Citizen: An American Lyric (2014), Claudia Rankine uses short, declarative sentences to evoke and validate Black Americans’ grief in the face of racist violence.

In her poem, Rankine uses declarative sentences to develop an informative or factual tone. The poem begins with a paragraph composed almost entirely of declarative sentences, and this form of syntax repeats throughout the poem. In the first paragraph she writes, “My brothers are notorious. They have not been to prison. They have been imprisoned. The prison is not a place you enter. It is no place. My brothers are notorious” (Rankine 89). Here, Rankine asserts that the criminal justice system and white America at large criminalize Black men and limit their opportunities. She explains that her “brothers” have not physically been to jail, but are still “imprisoned” by their notoriety and their inability to perform simple (non)activities like “waiting” unmolested. Rankine’s syntax breaks the various parts of these assertions into deceptively straightforward statements. Declarative introduce a subject, describe its action, and end with a period, creating the appearance of simplicity and factuality by drawing an apparently uncomplicated connection between a subject and an action. Rankine expresses sentiments of great political and figurative complexity as matters of what simply “is” or “is not.” This gives her statements the feel of common (and unremarkable) knowledge.

Image result for black lives matter protest

Rendering her ideas as common sense both evokes the numbing effects of continual tragedy and challenges the racist strategy of denying the validity of Black people’s experiences and knowledge. The accumulation of declarative sentences on the topics of imprisonment, racism, and the inability to exist creates a contrast between tone and subject. The factual tone combined with the sorrowful subject matter mirrors the detached manner of a person who is experiencing shock, or who has become numb to grief through the proliferation of tragedy. When dehumanization is part of the fabric of a person’s everyday life, pain must, at times, go underground for the sake of survival. Rankine’s detached tone adds to the power of her poem by underscoring the constant nature of racist violence. Furthermore, her tone is an implicit valorization of the knowledge Black people gather through their daily experiences— knowledge that white people devalue in order to maintain our power. By stating these appearances in a factual tone, Rankine asserts their truth.


Works Cited

Rankine, Claudia. “February 26, 2012 / In Memory of Trayvon Martin.” Citizen: An American Lyric, Graywolf Press, 2014.

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Race : The Elephant In The Room


Why don’t we talk openly about race? I think this image presents just a few reasons why. But within the history of the united states, race is subject that is barely explored in depth, whether it be in the media or between friends in conversation. It is hard to talk about race, and it is also difficult to understand the real reason why. Claudia Rankine’s collection of poems in her book, Citizen: An American Lyric (2014), explains and presents exactly why peopler so afraid of these conversations, and she does this without any of the frilly poetic elements you would expect from an collection of poems. Rankine is to the point, and states bluntly why, without needing to soften the blow – because it is time that we recognize this deafening silence and tune into the static, white noise that has been the soundtrack of the American life for centuries.

Within the opening of Citizen: An American Lyric (2014), Rankine includes a poem that exemplifies the difficulty of having conversations about race. She frames this issue by addressing the reader directly and inserting them into a conversation between a black and a white friend, allowing. The reader to choose who they align with. Through this, Rankine formulates her poem into a personal experience for the readers and furthermore forces them to think about their own interactions, and their own shortcomings or obstacles within racial discourse.

Rankine introduces the concept of one’s “self” and ones “historical self”. “Self” meaning the way in which one views and presents themselves aside from their race, and “historical self” meaning the way in which one is labeled categorized or perceived due to the historical context of the color of their skin within American history. Rankine’s use of diction in relation to the convergence of a black and a white persons’ “historical [selves]” is both broad and specific, but through this duality, Rankine creates a moving statement within the text that pinpoints the difficulty of racial discourse.

“However, sometimes your historical selves, her white self and your black self, or your white self and her black self, arrive with the full force of your American positioning”

The use of broad diction in reference to the phrase “American Positioning” forces readers to pause and think about the impact of the writers choice. What is my position? Where does my historical self put me? The word position has several different meanings. When we think of position we often think of a literal place in which exist, where we literally stand. Or, we think of position in terms of advantage or disadvantage, where we stand compared to others. Rankine’s choice of diction brings to light all of these implications and definitions and forces readers to confront that their “American positioning” will never be defined by their “self” but by their “historical self”, because race in America will always be at the root of all interactions, friendships, schools, institutions, and governments. It forces readers of all ethnic backgrounds to acknowledge that they are physically positioned in a nation that is designed to oppress, and that they are either in a position of advantage or disadvantage.

Rankine’s choice of diction is a small yet central component to the piece as the vague nature of the word forces them to confront themselves, but simultaneously the bluntness of the statement and connotations that are aroused demonstrate exactly why there is a fear associated with racial discourse. People are afraid – especially white people – are afraid of realizing the position that was built for them. And minorities, specifically African Americans in the case of the poem understand this position yet have to live in a nation that will not acknowledge this injustice aloud.

Blog Post 2

Caroline Berezin

Works Cited

Rankine, Claudia. Citizen. Graywolf Press, 2014. (Book)

The Pen Is, Indeed, Mightier than the Sword: A Poet’s Take

Poets often connect events from the past to relevant contemporary issues to reflect upon how the early stages of life carve a person into the individual they are bound to become. Rita Joe, a poet and author who aligns with such a picture, solemnly accentuates one way in which her childhood was molded by her surroundings at school and how that informed her readiness to take charge of herself in the poem “I Lost My Talk.” Published in 1988, this poem was originally featured in the collection Song of Eskasoni: More Poems of Rita Joe and has since been included in the book Song of Rita Joe: Autobiography of a Mi’Kmaq Poet, published in 1996 (Joe, Song of Rita Joe 55, 188).


Rita Joe

A Mi’Kmaq, Joe was born in 1932 in the eastern Canadian town of Whycocomagh, Cape Breton to a family of many children with insufficient financial resources (17-18). As mentioned noticeably at the outset of her story, Joe was very young when she became an orphan and began a spiral through the foster home and residential school systems of Canada (Whitehead 9). Acknowledging Joe’s personal history adds an emotional depth to inform the understanding of the source of her feelings and the somber tone established in the poem.

Rita Joe’s poem “I Lost My Talk,” composed of four stanzas of free verse and simplistic, repetitive vocabulary, follows a young girl attending the Shubenacadie school to depict her relationship with an unnamed – presumably upper-level – figure of authority. The speaker metaphorically indicates that an aspect of her inherent individuality, her “talk,” has been stolen and replaced by something foreign that belongs to the authoritative figure, and she desperately wishes to be permitted to discover it again (Joe, “I Lost My Talk”). Further, Joe informs readers that various other aspects of her individuality were replaced as well (7-8). The storyline of this poem stems from the malicious history of Indigenous residential schools and their impact on the lives of the children who called them home, recounted in They Came for the Children: Canada, Aboriginal Peoples, and Residential Schools (2012). As a person who was in a previous residential school, Joe’s writing reflects the government’s ambition “to assimilate Aboriginal children into broader Canadian society”; they would “continue until there is not a single Indian in Canada that has not been absorbed into the body politic” by “[denying them] the right to speak their language” (Truth and Reconciliation Commission 1, 86, Moore, Leslie, and Maguire qtd in 12). Ultimately, “residential schools…were established…to further [the government’s] long-term aim of ending the country’s treaty obligations by assimilating its Aboriginal population” (Truth and Reconciliation Commission 12). Throughout the poem, Joe transitions from a girl forbidden by the residential school to act on her own accord into one who seeks rediscovery of her true self to share that self with the world. In actually writing from the Indigenous side of the story, Joe’s articulation of her internal suffering offers insight into what was actually taking place in residential schools from an inside-looking-out perspective.


Joe’s Residential School at Shebenacadie

Joe’s poem precisely outlines what I have referenced about the residential school system and generates a sense of realization and anger amongst audiences, directed at whomever is brainwashing students. She reveals what can be interpreted as the lack of acceptance for Indigenous peoples like herself by sharing a story of dehumanization, how she quite literally became a stranger to herself. Her writing and her final request to reclaim what has been stolen from her must not only be analyzed in conjunction with Canada’s history of assimilation, but also with how it parallels and precedes pessimistic arguments against present multiculturalism issues that I will address.

Throughout her poem, Joe utilizes figurative language to tell a very personal story, signaling deep implications regarding what it may have been like to be a child at a residential school. She strategically opens with a metaphor to explain how, while there, an inherent piece of her was erased; Joe says, “I lost my talk / The talk you took away / When I was a little girl / At Shubenacadie school” (“I Lost My Talk” 1-4). Here, the poet is reflecting on how Indigenous peoples were told by those with authority at the residential schools to never talk in their Native language (Truth and Reconciliation Commission 24). Joe’s decision to use the word “lost” in reference to her “talk” suggests that some part of her inherent humanness is gone, probably unintentionally. This creates an abstract description, as speech is not something that can physically be displaced. Further, Joe seems to be left confused, when she describes “The scrambled ballad, about my word” (“I Lost My Talk” 9). Imagining her thoughts and feelings as messy and without purpose, implied by the negative associations of the words “lost” and “scrambled,” provides insight into Joe’s headspace during her schooling and how that reflects what I have already outlined about residential schools.

Also, in relying on the pronoun “you,” as opposed to ever referencing a specific person or group, Joe develops an accusatory tone, constructing an antagonistic persona for those responsible for the residential schools, who are distant from herself and her peers. Such a tone may create a feeling of resentment or anger – directed at the “you” – that is similar to Joe’s. In addition, Joe goes on to set up a narrative between a robber and a victim, portraying this “you” figure, who readers interpret to be those commanding the schools, as a thief. In reference to her “talk,” she writes that “You snatched it away” (Joe, “I Lost My Talk” 5). The connotation of the word “snatched” implies that something was stolen quickly, greedily, and without her – the victim – even realizing. This diction not only furthers the feeling of confusion Joe seems to suggest, but also increases the divide between Joe and her school. This theft, of sorts, is so important in the opening of the poem because it shows the goal of the residential schools to “kill languages” (Truth and Reconciliation Commission 1). Her illustrations set the stage for comprehending why it is so significant for people like Joe to get their “talk” back. In using this metaphor, Joe strips down to the basis of what was happening to Indigenous peoples at this point in history, which will both relate to and contradict our understanding of policies concerning multiculturalism that would soon arise.

The implementation of new multicultural policies in Canada has echoed a similar chronology across Indigenous populations, compared to Joe’s illustration of her speech restriction during her residential school time. In his chapter “Where the Voice Was Coming From,” featured in the anthology, Across Cultures, Across Borders: Canadian Aboriginal and Native American Literature (2010), author Armand Garnet Ruffo walks readers through a short history of multicultural legislation and how it has afflicted Indigenous peoples (173-75). For example, Ruffo describes the 1969 White Paper


Prime Minister Trudeau

released by Prime Minister Trudeau “to abrogate treaty and Aboriginal rights and sweep away hundreds of years of Canadian historical record” (173). He further critiques the feelings of Trudeau towards Native peoples, as it was his intention “to make Aboriginal people equal to other Canadians” (173). Eventually, as new multicultural legislation was introduced by Trudeau that failed to acknowledge Indigenous peoples as founding nations, these policies ran the risk of burying said peoples behind the fact that multicultural laws were even present (174-75). Ruffo’s arguments make it obvious that he is especially critical of Trudeau’s multiculturalism. This foreshadows his scrutinization of “the way in which language has been used as a strategy to subordinate the colonized” in Canada, which, I would argue, is Joe’s main claim in her poem (177).

In drawing connections to Joe’s experiences as one of “the colonized,” we see that her time in a residential school parallels Ruffo’s claims about the issues arising from today’s multiculturalism: as Joe surrendered something that belonged to her, so too did the overall Indigenous population. I think this forces us to question that if multicultural legislation does not see Native peoples in the truest form of their being, with them “slip[ping] under the umbrella of multiculturalism,” is it not just another version of the assimilation and rules against language at residential schools (Ruffo 175; Truth and Reconciliation Commission 1, 86)? On a similar note, I would argue that Joe could represent a real life example who expands Ruffo’s textual claim regarding how language was set in opposition to people like her. At the end of the poem, Joe comes full circle with her continued metaphor, leaving audiences with a hanging request; she replies, “So gently I offer my hand and ask” for the “you” figure in the poem to “Let me find my talk / So I can teach you about me” (“I Lost My Talk” 13-15). This phrase is framed as a question, as if Joe must obtain permission to tell about herself, and the continued emphasis of “you” implies that this is the figure who must grant permission. Her articulation of the phrase “let me” adopts a pleading tone, a sort of longing. Usually, when one needs to get approval, it suggests that they typically are not able to do something in the first place. This is recounted by one student in a residential school, for example, who recalls that “'[they] weren’t allowed to speak Cree, only French and English’” (Campbell qtd in Truth and Reconciliation Commission 69). This reinforces Joe’s implications of her inherent humanness being withdrawn. Yet, these concluding lines also suggest a forward-thinking approach, radiating a more positive vibe compared to the rest of the poem. This point signals the climax of Joe’s transition from being shut down in a residential school to showing a readiness to use her words to inform others about herself. Her final stanza sets up further complications that will emerge between her willingness to share personal anecdotes and the implementation of multiculturalism in Canada, while also proposing how this willingness can inform the future of multiculturalism.

In his 2014 chapter “Beyond Continuance: Criticism of Indigenous Literatures in Canada,” author Sam McKegney writes about Indigenous peoples in a context that parallels Joe’s character development throughout her poem. Published in the larger work, The Oxford Handbook of Indigenous American Literature, McKegney looks at the bigger picture of Canadian multiculturalism and Indigenous peoples through the evaluation of literature. Through laws McKegney describes, like the White Paper and Canadian Multiculturalism Act, he contextualizes how “Canadian multiculturalism has worked to efface the unique historical conditions of Indigenous nations,” portraying “those nations as cultures . . . shards within the Canadian mosaic,” indicating that multiculturalism itself is restricting Indigenous peoples (411). It is imperative for McKegney to provide this background information. Yet, his purpose is to address the issue of multiculturalism through his claim for an Indigenous “movement beyond continuance”; this would utilize “Indigenous literary art as a provocateur of the type of systemic change that will create conditions in which Indigenous individuals can pursue the social, political, and cultural vibrancy that will propel Indigenous communities beyond continuance” (417; Armstrong qtd in 410). McKegney’s main argument mainly stems from Emma LaRocque, an Indigenous scholar, who argues that Indigenous literature is the facilitator that will make the Indigenous viewpoint meaningful and influential, and also correlates with Ruffo’s argument for writing “as a vehicle for expression and a necessary precursor to the Aboriginal literary movement of today” (LaRocque qtd in McKegney 409; Ruffo 172).

McKegney’s article expands upon the conclusion of “I Lost My Talk” in that Joe’s goal in getting her speech back initiates the sort of transformative action he outlines. Joe’s final phrases show her eagerness to welcome McKegney’s included responsibility for Indigenous peoples to take their written work, their “talk,” and employ it to advocate for the recognition of Indigenous legitimacy (Armstrong qtd in McKegney 410). Her desire to chronicle herself and her people represents the expression through literature that McKegney suggests will enable Native peoples to further themselves. In order to achieve this, McKegney considers the “‘deconstruction-construction’” idea of Jeannette Armstrong, an Indigenous writer, in that

profound positive change for Indigenous individuals and communities…requires the reconstruction of a new order [because] the decolonizing process…involve[s] not simply the tearing down of colonial systems but the creation of…alternatives built from the fabric of Indigenous worldviews and traditions. (Armstrong qtd in 417)

This new thought process grounds and justifies how McKegney’s claims regarding literature pick up where “the decolonizing process” leaves off. This argument basically implies that if Canada is to become more attentive to each of its citizens – Indigenous people included – the current form of multiculturalism that McKegney critiques is going to have to evolve, accommodating those like Rita Joe.

In reality, Sam McKegney is not the only author who sees potential for the works of people like Rita Joe. Daniel Heath Justice’s “Letter to an Emerging Indigenous Writer,” published in 2018, is intended to motivate Indigenous writers to share their personal accounts while also validating their presence as writers (Justice). One of his major takeaways for writers is that “if you have the gift, you’re called upon to use it for the People, your own and the rest” and that “your words are needed” (Justice). Ultimately, his charge and reassurance for Indigenous writers is in complete opposition with how not only the words, but other basic facets of Indigenous peoples’ personalities, were regarded in residential schools, as relayed by Joe. In her poem, she explains that “I speak like you / I think like you / I create like you” (Joe, “I Lost My Talk” 6-8). Joe is referencing this “you” again and integrating elementary verbs that form the basis of who we are as humans to show how other aspects of her individuality, beyond simply her language, were replaced by a commanding figure. The repetition of similar phrases insinuates Joe’s limited capacity to diversify her sentence structure; this mirrors her limited capacity to truly make sense of who she is, amidst the noise of her residential school. Joe’s writing aligns more closely with one of Justice’s opening lines that discern how “too often [Indigenous writers have] been told that [their] words don’t matter” (Justice). In his letter, it was imperative for Justice to first acknowledge this idea before he could begin his motivational mantra, as I described above.

Even still, Justice’s motivation situates itself with Rita Joe’s poem, her figurative language illustrating a figurative passing of the torch, if you will: Justice’s arguments in favor of the growth of Indigenous writers begin from the point where Joe’s final stanza closes. As Joe exhibits a readiness to inform about herself (“Let me find my talk / So I can teach you about me” (“I Lost My Talk” 14-15)), Justice grabs that feeling and runs. Despite Justice’s letter being written contemporarily, we can still see connections between the shared emotions of writers like Joe and Justice. Yet, herein lies the friction between the enactment of residential schools and multicultural legislation and then the response of Indigenous authors.

Fundamentally, examining Joe’s implications about residential schools in conjunction with the eventual development of multicultural laws in Canada, we see an overlap between the way she was handled and the way in which her people as a whole are managed today. That said, what we are left to ponder is what is at the core of each of these arguments concerning literature and Indigenous peoples: they all create tension with the history and the current appraisals of Canadian multiculturalism I have included from Ruffo and McKegney. Some people, like author Erna Paris, regard Canada as “the world’s most successful multicultural society” (Paris). From my perspective, after outlining the history behind Joe’s depictions of residential schools with more recent multiculturalism, I question and respectfully dispute, on some levels, the validity of this statement. With such tensions between the schools, Indigenous peoples and authors, and multicultural laws, I raise some doubts that Canadian multiculturalism is as impressive as it may seem. Yet, remembering how Joe “lost” pieces of herself in school and looking at current arguments attacking what Canadian multiculturalism is doing to Indigenous peoples, I would argue that Canada is going to have a very interesting, complicated, and tricky road ahead, as it comes in conversation with authors like Joe and Justice, the issues and ignorance of multicultural laws, and new ideas of how to apply literature. But, ultimately, I have realized that Joe’s poem is timeless in its applicability to Indigenous peoples and is integral for the evaluation of Canada’s history with residential schools and their current dealings with multiculturalism.


Works Cited

Works Cited
Joe, Rita. “I Lost My Talk.” Poetry in Voice, 2016,                                                                          https://www.poetryinvoice.com/poems/i-lost-my-talk. Accessed 15 Apr. 2018.

– – -. Song of Rita Joe: Autobiography of a Mi’Kmaq Poet. Lincoln, Nebraska, University                of Nebraska Press, 1996.

Justice, Daniel Heath. “Letter to an Emerging Indigenous Writer.” Literary Hub,                              28 Mar. 2018, https://lithub.com/letter-to-an-emerging-indigenous-writer/.                        Accessed 15 Apr. 2018.

McKegney, Sam. “Beyond Continuance: Criticism of Indigenous Literatures in Canada.”                The Oxford Handbook of Indigenous American Literature, edited by James H.                Cox and Daniel Heath Justice, Oxford University Press, 2014, pp. 409-426.

Paris, Erna. “Canadians Must Never Take Multiculturalism for Granted.” The Globe and 
              Mail, 7 July 2016, first ed.,                                                                                                  https://www.theglobeandmail.com/opinion/canadians- must-                                              nevertakemulticulturalism-for-granted/article30773630/.                                                    Accessed 15 Apr. 2018.

Ruffo, Armand Garnet. “Where the Voice Was Coming From.” Across Cultures, Across
             Borders: Canadian Aboriginal and Native American Literature, edited by Paul                  DePasquale, Renate Eigenbrod, and Emma LaRocque, Broadview Press,                      2010, pp. 171-194.

The Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada. They Came for the Children:                     Canada, Aboriginal Peoples, and Residential Schools. Winnipeg, Manitoba,                     Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, 2012.                                                   http://www.myrobust.com/websites/trcinstitution/File/2039_T&R_eng_web                       [1].pdf. Accessed 15 Apr. 2018.

Whitehead, Ruth Holmes. “Introduction.” Song of Rita Joe: Autobiography of a Mi’Kmaq             Poet, University of Nebraska Press, 1996, pp. 9-10.