Audre Lorde: Poetry

Audre Lorde (1934–1992) was an American writer, professor, philosopher, intersectional feminist, poet and civil rights activist.

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Audre Lorde was legally blind. Self-described as a “black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet.” Lorde’s work confronts racism, sexism, homophobia, and classism. Her poetry and activism were deeply intertwined, making her a foundational figure in feminist and queer movement. She is remembered as a powerful voice for the marginalized and a champion of social change. Her writings continue to be studied and debated, and she remains a symbol of hope and resistance for many. Frances Clayton, a white psychology professor, who became her long-time romantic partner notes that as their connection deepened, she could clearly recognise in retrospect that their bond grew out of “our mutual abilities to trust in our power as women, to struggle against all oppressions and above all, to nurture and savor the enjoyment that this power brings.”

A Litany for Survival

For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children’s mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours;

For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid

So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.

Conversation in crisis

I speak to you as a friend speaks
or a true lover
not out of friendship or love
but for a clear meeting
of self upon self
in sight of our hearth
but without fire.

I cherish your words that ring
like late summer thunders
to sing without octave
and fade, having spoken the season.
But I hear the false heat of this voice
as it dries up the sides of your words
coaxing melodies from your tongue
and this curled music is treason.

Must I die in your fever
-or, as the flames wax, take cover
in your heart’s culverts
crouched like a stranger
under the scorched leaves of your other burnt loves
until the storm passes over?

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