Remembering Maya Angelou

I hesitate to write this,  because I anticipate a flood of Maya Angelou postings, but I just couldn’t get past the idea of not posting something. My first memory of poetry comes from Dr. Angelou. I don’t exactly remember what grade I was in; I know I was in middle school and Bill Clinton had made the decision to have Angelou read “On the Pulse of Morning” at his inauguration. Surely I had read poetry before middle school, but evidently it never registered until then.

My English teacher told us about Angelou’s childhood, and how she fell silent for years. I can remember clearly thinking well of course poetry makes sense. I don’t know why I thought this; I wasn’t a poet. Sure, I loved writing, but I didn’t yet know I would be a writer. We watched the inauguration on television, and that voice — oh, that voice — washed over me and covered me in its deep velvet sound. I had never heard anything so beautiful in my life.

A few years later, when my cousin graduated from college, Maya Angelou was the keynote speaker at his graduation. I was beyond thrilled. I was going to see this woman in person, hear that voice live. My cousin took a backseat while Angelou spoke. She spoke, even then, about being a rainbow to other people. I remember that because I went out and bought a rainbow ring to remind me of her message. She had a voice, a spirit, that made you believe you could make a difference, that you could do good in the world.