I meant to post this poem soon after the VP debate, but oh, my, the chaotic news cycle keeps churning, doesn’t it? Anyway, I’m determined to post it now because Trump has decided to go after Kamala Harris. He should save his breath — he needs it for his ailing lungs.
This poem by Maya Angelou hangs above my kitchen sink so I see it many times daily. Sometimes I read one verse, sometimes another, sometimes the whole thing. Although I am not Black, this poem reminds me of so many Black women I know, whether they are public figures — like Barbara Jordan (and many others), or academics like Trudier Harris (and many others), or writers like Paule Marshall, Toni Morrison, Gloria Naylor (and many others) with their incredibly strong female characters — or personal friends, acquaintances, and essential workers. And it inspires me to quit my complaining about whatever little stuff is going on in my life and get to work writing a few more Vote Forward letters, sending a bit more money to a campaign, going to vote (the line is still long in Columbus, OH outside the Franklin County BOE!!), or getting up enough nerve to post this poem. It gives me determination to keep on keepin’ on, which I want to share with this community. Here’s to you, Kamala, and all your sisters.
Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
— Maya Angelou (1978)