Day 4: Shero

For Maya Angelou

Your girlish smile
Is hands off suicide.
In your quest to rise
You blurred the lines,
Blending the elements of black and white.
It's cold news that stays hot;
We live the dream and the hope
You stuck out your neck for.
Bringing in the sheaves on slave boats.
We believed what we was told.
Until you gave voice to stories of old.
Can't talk legacy,
Or browse the anals of chemistry.
One name dims the words on the pages.
Like a silhouette printed on rims of mystery.
The one woman haters couldn't decode.
The undisputed, veritable shero.

Akpan