A Poetic Letter for Amerikkka by Rosa Martinez, Assistant Professor of English, Sacramento State

“Dear Amerikkka” intimately begins in classic epistolary form, thus balancing a steady line between letter writing and poetry. Immediately, the reader is made aware of the style, especially with the abrupt shift from a term of endearment to the triple “k” within the name of the letter’s recipient, prompting an unapologetic tone. As its author notes in her reflection on the piece, and who reveals herself at the end of the poem-letter, “The poem has no desire to be kind or politically correct.” In various bursts of historical and cultural criticism that echo throughout the poem, Maya Coleman creates a meaningful and powerful call to, in her words, “the current and historically consistent war on Black bodies.” She thus moves from an ancestral past to civil rights to the present-day. The work itself carries the symbolic tone of spoken word, as well as the passion of the youth poet laureate, Amanda Gorman in “The Hill We Climb,” yet fulfills a different role: instead of the “we” of Gorman, here we shift to the “you” of Coleman. Within and throughout this provocative creative nonfiction piece, the emphasis on “you” prompts for readerly moments of identification, both in the very statements posed and the questions asked, as in the following lines: “How do you calculate the worth of millions of Black enslaved bodies?/How do you reconcile intentional systematic productions of poverty?”

To draw upon Coleman’s reflection, once again, her poem “calls in true accountability on all accounts,” especially when the poetic voice asks the figure of “Amerikkka” to acknowledge the injustice in “Oh the silence” over “your privilege.” It also draws upon the numerous voices that have contributed to that silencing – “‘After all Maya it’s not like you were there,’” “‘Maya forgive and forget,’” “‘Shhhhhhhh Maya be patient’” – rendering not only the memories of silence but also its pain and the potential of an emerging voice. “Dear Amerikkka” compels the reader to face the past, and, in the final lines of the poem, renders a didactic and confrontational declaration: “And you/say you are not your ancestors, but there is still an unpaid debt./And as you can see, the descendants birthed after your crimes are shamelessly here to collect.” In every which way, Coleman’s poem, which is meant to be read aloud and meant to make the listener uncomfortable, is bold, sharp, and thoughtful. After all, Coleman is a seasoned poet and performing artist, having performed at The Black Excellence Awards, Black & White Gala, Org Night, and more recently, Sacramento State’s Fall 2020 Convocation of “Advancing Our Commitment to Antiracism.” Also, she has created a competitive scholarship fund, titled My Birth Right in 2019. We congratulate her on such a powerful piece of literature and especially for the ways in which the significance of its content, through her voice, brings attention to a “raw truth.” Because, as she writes, “I simply owe it to my ancestors to say the entire truth.”