Last week the writing community lost one of its greatest gifts: Maya Angelou.
She was prolific. Lyrical. Compassionate. But above all, she was inspiring.
Maya Angelou was a Survivor
Maya suffered a lot during her life, as you’ve no doubt read or watched this week. Rape, divorce, racism.
But we don’t know her for being a tragic writer. Rather, the theme throughout her poems and books is triumph.
She was a survivor and, through her work, assured us that we could be too. That regardless of what life threw at us, we would rise. Constantly, she reminded us that we each have a unique light that we should allow to shine.
Allow Maya Angelou to Be Your Inspiration
My tip to you this week is to let Maya be an inspiration to you. Take the quotes and poems that have been floating around social media or sitting in the books in your library to heart. Rather than be bogged down by the burden of writing, focus on what pushes you to do it. Remember that you are talented. And regardless of what happens, keep going.
What’s your favorite piece by Maya Angelou?
PRACTICE
Use Maya Angelou's personal triumph for your inspiration. Take fifteen minutes to write a poem or scene that reflects the theme of triumph. Share with us below!
I saw Maya Angelou at the Minneapolis Basilica of St Mary’s for Martin Luther King Day in 1992 (I think) and she did a spoken word piece called “Bid ‘Em In” and it was her speaking in the voice of the auctioneer of slaves, and it was horrible. She spoke of the checking of teeth and feet and women’s parts and men’s parts and the thought process that went into choosing a slave, as though they were animals. It was beautifully horrible, and had me in tears. It was so moving. I thought of the humiliation each of those people, individuals each one, felt during such a horrible time. It is the most moving thing I have heard in my entire life. I’ll never forget the piece, and the talk that she gave afterward, which was so kind and forgiving, while reminding us of the problems that still exist in this country.
She was, phenomenally woman! She will be so missed.
Yes, she certainly knew how to paint a vivid picture. Thanks for sharing!
My story is a bit long, but I appreciate the opportunity to share it.
The Caged Bird
Charlie had a brother named Rob. He was quiet, but really big. Not as massive as Chuck, but intimidating, nonetheless. He was unfriendly, but there was a gentle side to him. I couldn’t prove it, but there were glimpses here and there – with little kids and old ladies, baby cats. Buried beneath all the mean parts, there was goodness. Charlie was wired similarly, but he wasn’t nearly as nice.
Rob kept everyone at arms’ length. He took me aside one Christmas and asked, “Is he still hitting you?” He gestured toward Charlie who had his back to us, washing his face at the kitchen sink. “Don’t lie.”
“It’s not so bad,” I answered.
“If he lays his hands on you again, you need to tell your father. So he can put two bullets in his chest.”
“I can’t do that,” I told him.
“You’re an idiot,” he shook his head.
“I love you, Rob.” I tried to hug him, but he took a step back with his hand up.
“Stop,” he said. “I don’t need this.”
Rob did two and a half years on a robbery charge in the early 90’s. He’d spent enough time in jail to get off the needle. After his release, he stayed clean for the whole time I knew him. The boys smoked crack in the house so he moved into a small Budweiser trailer that was jacked up on cinder blocks in the front yard.
Rob’s aluminum home had a door, and he cut a hole on the opposite side to make a window. Winters right on the water always seemed colder than everywhere else, especially in a little metal box. Rob ran a long extension cord across the steps when the temperature dropped so he could power a space heater and not freeze to death in his sleep. Come June, he rigged up a box fan.
I was never inside the trailer. Rob was very private. I also knew he brought prostitutes in there, so I kept my distance. Females called to him all day and night.
“Rob, you in there? Got a cigarette for me?”
“Go ‘way, bitch. I’m sleeping,” he’d answer.
“C’mon, Rob. Just one.”
“You need to wash yourself,” he scolded.
“I know, but I need a cigarette.”
The girls all along Clason Point scared me. Crack had roughed them up pretty badly. They wandered up and down the road by the jetty, waiting for someone to come along and trade. No one had money in Harding Park, but they all had dope. Every kind you like.
*******
Mabel was Charlie’s mom. She was a tough old lady. The boys broke her leg one night during a fight. They fell on top of her when she was trying to separate them. Mabel owned the house they lived in, and she paid the bills. Her children gave her money here and there, with which she bought groceries and cooked for them all. Stray people and animals, everybody got a meal.
She fed some of the dogs in the kitchen. The ones that fought over food ate on the porch. One night when Mabel was scraping leftovers into their bowls outside, she saw something picking through food in the trash barrel. She called to Rob who grabbed an afghan off the couch.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I don’t know, Ma. Let’s catch him first.”
When you throw a quilt over a large exotic bird, it sounds just like a lady being murdered. “Get in here before the cops come!” Mabel hissed.
Rob unwrapped the blanket in the bathroom. A blue and yellow macaw flapped its huge wings and crashed into the ceiling several times in efforts to escape its captors. Having shat itself nearly unconscious, the poor thing perched on the shower rod, pink-faced and panting. “Raw! Raw!” It sobbed all night long.
Come morning, Rob went to see a guy he knew who kept cockatiels in the back of his store. He asked some questions but didn’t let on what he had found in the yard. You never tell people what you have. They might snatch all your shit when you’re not looking. Instead, he bought two packs of Marlboros, glanced around and figured out on his own how to keep the parrot alive.
Mackey couldn’t stay in the trailer. It was either too hot or too cold for a tropical creature. Instead, Rob built a five foot pen and chained it to an exposed cross beam in the living room ceiling. He also put a padlock on the door of the cage. There were two keys. He had one, and Mabel wore the other around her neck. Anyway you looked at it, nobody was gonna take that bird. Mackey was a nasty motherfucker. If you got too close, she’d growl menacingly. She hated everyone except Rob. “Rawb! Rawb! When she saw him, she screeched with delight like a lovesick groupie.
Rob fed Mackey what we ate – sweet potatoes, macaroni and rice. He cut up fresh fruits and vegetables. He made treats from strips of rawhide rolled in peanut butter, some covered with bird seed and others with crushed nuts.
*******
Charlie’s cousin, Pete lived in a tent on his deceased mother’s property. Her house had burned to the ground the year before. He pushed a shopping cart around the neighborhood, stealing what he could and trying to sell people’s garbage. Pete wasn’t long for this world. Crack was digging his grave.
One afternoon, Pete came by to see Rob. He’d been talking to his friend. This friend told Pete that he’d heard some junkies broke into the bird sanctuary at the Bronx Zoo and stole seven or eight parrots. He mentioned that folks suspected that’s where Rob got Mackey.
“Pete, you’re fucked up. I ain’t got no bird,” Rob told him.
“Yo, cuz. I’m just saying. That’s what they told me. You know me, I ain’t said nothing.”
“You don’t make no sense,” Rob shook his head.
“Rawb!” Mackey beckoned through the window when she heard his voice.
“You hear that?” Rob asked as he took one last drag off his cigarette and flicked it toward Pete’s shoes. “You tell your friend I got his mother up in my house.”
Rob went inside, held the bird down and cut the ID band off her leg. She cried the whole time.
*******
Sometimes, we’d get real high and sit on the couch all day. I’d watch Mackey chew on her feet with her dark black beak. She’d scratch her own face with those giant claws, hurting herself for reasons I couldn’t understand and picking at something she’d never find. She’d ring her little bell and climb the rope, calling out for a man to save her. You just knew it wouldn’t end well.
Over the years, I’ve often thought about that strange bird in her homemade cage, loved and kept by an angry man. Raised one way, then suddenly living another and wondering where it all went wrong. I was sad when I found out that Rob had died last year. I don’t know how it happened, and it wasn’t my place to ask. I had left that world behind and all the people in it.
Everyone in this story is dead, except me. I think about that sometimes, too.
My blog is here at: http://www.highwiregirl.blogspot.com
An incredibly powerful story. There is a strong message and something Ms. Angelou would truly appreciate. Inspite of the desperate conditions, a thread of compassion runs throughout. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, Eva. It is satisfying to turn a rough time into a pleasant reflection.
I really enjoyed this. Very engaging and well-written. You say so much in so few words. “Rob’s aluminum home” alone speaks volumes. So this is a true story?
Yes, it is. Thanks for your kind comments. I aim to be efficient. I go back through when I’m editing and try to make sure I never repeat a thought or descriptive word twice. There’s usually a lot going on in my head, and it’s easy for me to babble. 🙂
very very well written. every line had me following along and feeling my way through this life.
Hey there High Wire Girl this is a very good piece of writing.
It offers the reader great insight to the physical environment and social nuances of living that lifestyle.
And, more importantly, the need for a man to love and care for something and how this manifests no matter what our circumstance.
Thank you so much for sharing.
Dawn
Gosh. Thank you, Dawn.
I think there’s love in just about everyone.
It might even be the thing that makes some folks so angry.
The conflict.
Regards,
Mary
This didn’t get real far so I guess it probably doesn’t show triumph. I was just getting to the problems. But anyways, I have been reading Why the Caged Bird Sings today and it is very good.
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Mom was driving me down the highway. Can I have McDonalds today for my after school snack?
No I don’t think so.
Please please? It is so good. She sighed and turned off the highway and turned into their drive thru.
I watched Scooby Doo while I ate. The mini onions were sprinkled all over and I had told them no onions again, and there they were. I attempted to scrape them off, but they held fast to the bun. And so I just made myself eat the burger, there was a slight crunch as though I was eating little bugs that made my stomach knot. And I decided to myself no more McDonalds for a while. After my show was over I didn’t watch anymore tv because nothing good was on.
I went outside and investigated the nature brewing out there. I smelled my uncles carnations, they were big and ruffly and smelled sweet. I looked at the sugar cane, a series of hearty looking poles that came up from the ground and I tugged back a leaf, trying to get myself a piece. But then I tripped backwards, my butt landing scraped the dirt. A big fat snail had curled up in that stalk and was poking its slimy little eyes at me. I ran back inside and shut the sliding door behind me.
What’s the matter? My mother asked, you act as though you had seen a ghost.
I said nothing just walked off to my room.
When my father got home we played a game of monopoly. He won and then had dinner. My mother didn’t sit, she just watched us gobble the food. After dinner he set off to leave again. “Daddy, you just got here, please stay just a bit longer?” I asked.
“No honey,” and he pat my head, “you have a good night and listen to mom.” and walked to mom and gave her a quick peck, and went out the door. After he left my mom cleaned up the dishes and I just watched her do it. Her hands had large crawling veins in them as she scrubbed at the dishes. And she stared out the window into the dark.
In the morning I got some cereal. I waited till it got mushy and then when I scooped cereal in my mouth, it simply dissolved into nothing in my mouth. On the tv set the count was counting and laughing his menacing vampire laugh from on Sesame Street. Mom walked in front of the tv. Her legs shadowed him, but I could still here his counting. “You need to eat your food, otherwise you’re gonna be late for school.” Mom said.
“Ok.” I quickly spooned the liquid in my mouth, the spoon lapping up and down between the bowl and my mouth.
“Your father is a real smart man, and not just smart like all men are smart but really smart, all A’s in school all his life. You want to be like him don’t you?”
I nodded.
Then you are going to have to pay attention and study real hard.
Okay.
I stepped out of the car, my mom gave me a smile and waved. I waved back as I stepped out. I turned and walked, holding tight the straps of my backpack. There were kids of different sizes, many taller than me, walking around as casually as if they were in their own homes. I felt queasy and I suddenly wanted to hide. I walked on the very edge of the walkway, almost in the flower bushes.
When I stepped into my room kids were laughing and talking all around me. I sat still and had my hands folded in my lap. The teacher came to the front.
“Hello, my name is Mrs. Kurshenbauger.” But the kids kept on talking. She had a stern face, and brightly colored make up that made her look unnatural. “Hey.” She snapped seriously, and all the kids quieted and stared at her. She introduced herself again and then started the day. My eyes fixed on her.
This morning I received a call from the Telstra Call Centre. (You know the type I’m talking about.) So out of interest I thought I’d play along a little.
“Yes I am the owner of this Internet ISP.”
“Yes I am the main user.”
“Yes other family members do use this ISP.”
“No I’m not aware my ISP is being used from a place in Botswana to hack bank accounts.”
“Yes I’m sure this is a very serious matter.”
“Actually I don’t want to answer any more questions, perhaps you can give me the number of your office and I will call you back.”
And from down the crackly line, complete with clank and hum of background noise and chatter, this polite young woman replied,
“Oh well Mrs. Jones. You must answer these questions; it is a very serious matter. There will be legal proceedings. As you have not answered these questions you will be
receiving a legal notice from Telstra very soon for international hacking and ISP misconduct. Goodbye.”
Click. The line went dead. I didn’t have the opportunity to respond. I smiled. Perhaps I should have been frightened. I was not. I believed I had beaten the conniving system. I had won the battle. I had not been hooked in to a scam.
This sense of triumph was short lived. I became instantly troubled that this young woman has probably studied for several years to get an IT degree to secure a job that defies the essence of humanity. A position that tells lies and aims to evoke fear. More troubling is that the young woman may believe she is telling the truth.
I returned to the seductive comfort of warm sudsy water, a sink full of dishes and the beautiful view outside my kitchen window and reminded myself of my good fortune. Then I pondered the possibility of my next overseas trip and wondered how much it would cost to visit Botswana as a safari tourist.
During my years in the corporate world and giving speeches to thousands at a time, I quoted this amazing lady several times and always took a moment afterwards to take a deep breath to allow the listener to think about what I said and the deep words of her quote. I am sad that this amazing woman has passed, she was a true fighter and what I took from her stories was she was a fighter and inspired others with her words.
Chasers we are
All of us humans
Creatures of longing, creatures of lust.
Love we chase and the dreams we create
Reaching for infinity in an inevitable finite life
Over death itself triumph might never be
But nothingness is different
Nothingness we can beat
Through outcries of our voice within
Through the thumb of our heated hearts
we leave a mark
Rejoice in the garden of your unlimited fantasy
Infuse it with devotion, watch it flourish and grow
Let your love turn to life
May your life conquer time
And I promise, oblivion will hide
Forever from your blossoming legacy.