I awoke Wednesday morning, checked my cell phone, and saw a text: “Maya Angelou died.”
Those three words took my breath away for a minute. I knew she was ill, and I had been praying for her recovery ... Now she was gone?
It was like reading that my favorite aunt had died. I immediately started to mourn … and I want to tell you why.
I came to know Maya Angelou (nee Marguerite Johnson) almost 20 years ago, via a high school English course.
We had a book list for one of our term papers and then were allowed to choose a book for another.
Apparently the list was outdated, because when I chose I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings (a book that had been suggested by other avid readers I knew), I was told that it was now on the banned book list (and I think it still is) because of its “content”.
So I chose another book … but the rebel in me still wanted to read hers. I wanted to see what I was being kept from knowing . So I checked it out of the library and read it – finishing over a weekend.
In those pages I found a kindred spirit. A little girl who had been through trauma at the hands of someone who was supposed to protect her.
A young woman learning to live in a black vs. white world.
A lady who learned to love her herself, despite her past and those who tried to demean her.
A talent who was inspired by the world (and her travels around the world) … She was me, and everything else I wanted to be. This caged bird wanted to fly.
As I often do when I discover a new writer, I then wanted to read everything she ever wrote. Poems, collections, other novels …
It was then that I discovered that she was the pen behind the poems I’d heard in the movie Poetic Justice, and I realized I’d known her work far longer than I thought. (Don’t judge me for being late, I wasn’t allowed to watch that movie when it first came out).
Now, I’d been writing since I was in elementary school … and writing poetry since I was in middle school, but through the work I discovered in my high school years, Maya Angelou stirred something in me that would not be muffled.
And that something still exists.
I take flight every time I write.
I still own a copy of I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings (I’ve bought it several times over the years).
I still rifle its pages sometimes to remember why I write, or recite some of my favorite lines of her poetry for inspiration.
Though I never met or knew Dr. Angelou, when I read that text this morning, I shed tears as if she was a member of my own family … and in a way she was.
She was someone I turned to for inspiration (through her work).
She represented that old-school, classy, regal, strong Black woman who has seen the world and experience everything in it – and now can teach me how to conquer it.
With the stroke of her pen, the tap of her keyboard or the sound of her melodic voice, she would whip a crowd into frenzy and ignite the a flame in creatives and non-creatives alike.
She was not just a Black woman, a dancer, a writer, a poet, an activist, a teacher, etc. – she was a treasure of our time.
Her presence will be missed, but the legacy and work she has left with us, will live on forever.
Rest in paradise Dr Angelou.
And Thank You … For Everything.
And Thank You … For Everything.
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