I am sitting in my living room, watching a documentary on the life of Maya Angelou. My daughter is sitting next to me, and she just said, "I love her voice."
I saw Maya Angelou read twice. She was a presence. Tall as the Empire State Building, even in advanced age. I remember sitting about forty feet away from the stage, and she stood there and started singing a spiritual. It was electric, and she had the entire stadium in her palm. I wish my daughter could have been there, seen her, heard her.
I have a poem tonight that may have made Dr. Angelou laugh, if she'd have the opportunity to read it. At least, that's what I hope.
Saint Marty loves Dr. Angelou's voice, too.
The Tin Man's Heart
by: Martin Achatz
The Wizard gave the Tin Man
A heart with a clock
That unwound after sundown,
Hands slowing at midnight
In the dark bed of his chest,
Each second an immense field of poppies,
Fragrant as Dorothy's thick braids.
In the forest under the stars,
The Tin Man listened to his heart tick,
Like the sound of lovers kissing,
Waiting for his spring to uncoil,
Praying for that moment:
He and Dorothy in the poppies,
The sun on their gleaming bodies.