With dark, steady hands that hold ink and pen,
That writes stories, recall memories
Writings of activism, of power,
words spill over the pages and feel
feel like hope, like sacrifice,
like tears of those who came before me.
Who had courage, was Maya Angelou
whose hands voiced those who couldn’t
whose voice speaks steadily,
of caged birds in her path to freedom.
I, too, speak of caged birds,
of injustices of my time and years before
I hold firmly to the legacy Angelou remarks
I grasp onto her words, her music
Because she is there, inspiring me to write for her,
for people who look like me,
brown skin and glassy eyes
like the sun
Where my country is more just
more civil, more room for progress
I stand on Angelou’s words
their ink splatter and spread to others
and I write my own too, to hope that my child’s country
will be better as well.
I now know why The Caged Bird Sings.
It sings of oppression,
It cries of sadness,
but it sings of hope.