#i know why the caged bird sings

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The Rainbow in My Clouds

In 1979 Dr. Maya Angelou became my mother. No, she never suckled me at her breast and no, she never cradled me in her arms, but how did she become my lifeline? A literary umbilical cord formed between she and I, and until her recent death, it has never been severed. To be honest, I’m not even sure if death alone could cut the cord that exists between the two of us. Yes, her earthly body has been abandoned for an ancestral form somewhere in the sky, yet, I still feel her warmth, her gentleness and her mothering spirit.

Don’t get me wrong; I had a mother. Two mothers, to be exact, but for what I experienced the summer of ’79, the mothers I had were not prepared to support me in the way I needed. Their words were empty and their capacity to understand my suffering had not matured to a level that made them capable of feeding my starving soul. So, in stepped Dr. Angelou with her memoir I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings.

When I tell people Dr. Angelou’s book saved my life, I am not exaggerating. That summer, my innocence was stripped away from me, and no one but Dr. Angelou had the words to express all that I was feeling: “Could I tell her now? The terrible pain assured me that I couldn’t. What he did to me, and what I allowed, must have been very bad if already God let me hurt so much” (I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, 1970). ‘How did she know?’ the eleven-year-old me wondered. How did she know that I, too, felt like a caged bird? How did she know that I couldn’t tell anyone either? And how did she know I, too, felt abandoned by the heavenly God that was supposed to protect sweet little innocent girls like her and me?

Along with reading, writing became my savior too. Seeing the beautiful brown image of Dr. Angelou on the back of her book cover was enough to validate the writer who was bubbling up inside of me. Through writing, I could rewrite the past, the present—even the future. I could create giants with Old Testament fury who annihilated those monsters that stalked the earth for helpless young princesses who bore a striking resemblance to me. I could reverse all of the past atrocities done to the meek long before they had the opportunity to inherit the earth.  Reading and absorbing Dr. Angelou’s poetry allowed me to be brave and wise enough to revisit how I viewed myself.  One poem in particular that reorganized my image of the self was “Phenomenal Woman” (1978):

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size  

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,  

The stride of my step,  

The curl of my lips.  

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,  

That’s me.

There isn’t a woman alive who has ever read those words out loud and didn’t strut around knowing Dr. Angelou wrote those words especially for her. As a result of Dr. Angelou’s bodacity and unapologetic usurping of the mainstream’s idea of what is beautiful, I started writing poetry that showed my appreciation for those parts about me that society deemed unappealing. I wrote poems celebrating my broad nose, my nappy hair and my ample butt. I wrote myself out of bad relationships and unfulfilling jobs. I rewrote society’s reflection of me so that when I looked in the mirror I saw the woman Dr. Angelou wrote about.

Dr. Angelou’s death has left me breathless, but I am finally starting the process of resuscitating myself again through her wonderful and magical words as well as the knowledge that as long as I have a memory of her and her empowering prose and poetry, she will forever remain the rainbow in my clouds.

Angela Jackson-Brown is a writer and poet who teaches Creative Writing and English at Ball State University in Muncie, IN. She is a graduate of Troy State University, Auburn University and Spalding University’s Low Residency MFA in Creative Writing Program. Her work has appeared in literary journals, such as: Pet Milk, Uptown Mosaic Magazine,New Southerner Literary Magazine,The Louisville Review,Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal,Blue Lake Review,Identify Theory,Toe Good Poetry, and94 Creations. Her short story, “Something in the Wash,” was awarded the 2009 fiction prize by New Southerner Literary Magazine and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in Fiction. Her debut novel, Drinking from a Bitter Cup, was published by WiDo Publishing on January 7, 2014. She is currently working on her second novel.