Maya Angelou died this past May, leaving a treasure trove of writing for us to read and remember her by. It all started with the discovery of a bookstore. I found it because I had eaten breakfast in a cafe down the street. I shot inside and read the first chapters of a couple of different books in a state of hyperactive delirium before focusing on a small robin's-egg-blue paperback book sitting by the cash register. I'd heard of the book before - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou - and I knew that I would have to buy it. I read about Marguerite's (that was her given name) silk Sunday dress made out of a rich woman's worn-out gown and the three-line poem she was meant to recite to her church and the "space between her teeth that would hold a number-two pencil" before I paid and left. I thought about the book on the bike ride home, and when I had finished yank...