I grew up in a town in a town in Arkansas smaller than the exposed part of this stage.

And I was small and strange because I stopped talking from the time I was 7.5 until I was 12.5.

The cadence is unmistakable.

It only takes a few words to know when you're listening to the voice of Maya Angelo.

I was known to be weird, but black Americans didn't call me weird.

People would see me in the road.

My grandmother owned most of the land behind the town,

most of the land the poor whites lived on, most of the land the blacks lived on,

and the only black-owned store in the town. And so people had many reasons to be angry with

mama, since mama was severe. So people

disliked my grandmother. I understand that. They'd see me in the street and say

mm-mm it's a shame sister Henderson's California granddaughter,

done gone mental.

Or mmm, shame sister Henderson's California granddaughter, you know.

So they didn't actually say I was weird, but I was pretty weird.

And to, I understand that however mama

explained to me all the time sister mama don't care what these people say about you being a idiot,

about you being a moron.

Mama, know when you and the good Lord get ready, sister, you're gonna be a preacher.

I used to sit there and think poor ignorant mama.

I mean really. I will never speak. What does she mean? Preach. Oh what a shame and

disappointment mama has in store for her.

...