I have loved Maya Angelou’s work ever since I first stumbled upon I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.
I can’t recall any of her phrases exactly, but I vividly remember the outrage I felt on her behalf at the abuse by her stepfather. I drank in the oppressive Deep South, I smelled the sweat and felt the fear.
Maybe, just maybe, we should feel first?
And once we do, the words will come.