“In the flush of love’s light, we dare be brave. And suddenly we see that love costs all we are, and will ever be. Yet it is only love which sets us free.’ – Maya Angelou
Maya Angelou left us here three years ago today. That is to say her body passed on and out of our shared mortal coil. Her voice and her words, her indelible honesty, her dauntless hope are not going anywhere. Her legacy is bright, solid as stone, smooth as truth, infectious as forbidden laughter.
I read her biographies, devoured her poetry, understood her silence at heart level. I wrote a poem for her a long time ago. For her, like her, about her. It is a small thing. Not so much a great work of greatness. It is a small piece of love to be added to the patchwork quilt of kindness and rememberance; the network of loving words spoken about someone when they leave us. It is the muffled muttering of minor stars when a supernova in their constellation flickers out.
Sleepy limbs, naïve time
Waiting to heal or to smile
Tethered star, worn out string
Breached scars, my hope still sings
Whispered hope, dial-a-prayer
Hoping God answers there
Weary lungs, heavy sigh
Raw-mouthed, my voice will rise
Paper skin, purple veins
Ache with cold, shake with rain
Vision weak, mem’ry sweet
Thoughts awake, my heart beats
Faith mighty, body sore
Free to give, free enough
Happy too, my gift is Love.