“I know why the caged bird sings and what continues to hurt is that there was ever even a cage to begin with.”
The first time I heard Maya Angelou speak, she walked onto the stage, all six feet of her, and gently began singing. Her voice, octaves lower than mine and slightly shaking with age yet unwavering in her presence, slowly began singing This Little Light of Mine and I’ll never forget the rush of emotion. I wanted to race to her, to hug her and hold her and apologize for generations of heartache and cruelty, even though she was fifty years my elder. The shame and anger I felt on behalf of my pale skin for a lineage that didn’t take care of her when she was that baby bird. As I continue to find my voice through my craft, this one’s for Maya.