It has now been a few days since the death of Dr. Maya Angelou. Many of us grew up either having heard of or actually having read her poems and books, and being inspired by them, wowed by her words and the imagery they invoke, the emotions you felt that mirrored Maya’s as she imparted all that she had experienced. I won’t get into all of that here since everyone else already has; Dr. Angelou’s reputation definitely preceded her and has made of her a legend, almost a hero of sorts. Even the mere mention of her name commands attention, respect.
The hats she wore throughout her life were many and varied: poet, authoress, mother, dancer, activist, teacher, but indeed her biggest contribution was opening the door for Black female authors and giving us the confidence to open ourselves up and speak our minds and our hearts, just as she did. In so doing, she set herself apart while at the same time uniting us and reminding us that we are all threads of the same fabric, of the tapestry that has been woven through time. In her voice I heard class, grace, strength, willpower, justice, drive, compassion, wisdom, and knowledge. That voice has been silenced, but will echo in her writing forever.