RIP Maya Angelou

by P. Braithwaite

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I found out that Dr. Angelou died while I was sitting on the C train platform. I gasped (because women like Maya Angelou don’t die), and immediately thought of my student who’d spent all semester dissecting her work. I wondered how she’d take the news. Something about that transference brought me great comfort. Every day, from now until the end of time, someone somewhere will discover Dr. Angelou for the first time and be made better by the experience. She rises…perpetually.

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