“stations” by audre lorde

thank you for sharing this, Allison <3

Audre Lorde – Stations

Some women love
to wait
for life for a ring
in the June light for a touch
of the sun to heal them for another
woman’s voice to make them whole
to untie their hands
put words in their mouths
form to their passages sound
to their screams for some other sleeper
to remember their future their past.

Some women wait for their right
train in the wrong station
in the alleys of morning
for the noon to holler
the night come down.

Some women wait for love
to rise up
the child of their promise
to gather from earth
what they do not plant
to claim pain for labor
to become
the tip of an arrow to aim
at the heart of now
but it never stays.

Some women wait for visions
That do not return
Where they were not welcome
For invitations to places
They always wanted
To visit
To be repeated.

Some women wait for themselves
Around the next corner
And call the empty spot peace
But the opposite of living
Is only not living
And the stars do not care.

Some women wait for something
To change and nothing
Does change
So they change

a list

  1. home
  2. “Our divine origins”
  3. Syncretic
  4. Dichotomous thinking
  5. Reify – making something abstract more concrete or real
  6. “fallacy of misplaced concretion”
  7. exile
  8. speculative (speculative nature of all thought)
  9. truth in poetry
  10. critiquing “foundationalism”
  11. impossibility of communicating univocally
  12. fallacy of the perfect dictionary
  13. clarity as a means of subjection
  14. naming, nameless – excitable speech

what i mean

“The moment the insider steps out from the inside, she is no longer a mere insider (and vice versa). She necessarily looks in from the outside while also looking out from the inside. Like the outsider, she steps back and records what never occurs to her the insider as being worth or in need of recording. But unlike the outsider, she also resorts to non-explicative, non-totalizing strategies that suspend meaning and resist closure. (This is often viewed by the outsiders as strategies of partial concealment and disclosure aimed at preserving secrets that should only be imparted to initiates.) She refuses to reduce herself to an Other, and her reflections to a mere outsider’s objective reasoning or insider’s subjective feeling. She knows, probably like Zora Neale Hurston the insider anthropologist knew, that she is not an outsider like the foreign outsider. She knows she is different while at the same time being Him. Not quite the Same, not quite the Other, she stands in that undetermined threshold place where she constantly drifts in and out. Undercutting the inside/outside opposition, her intervention is necessarily that of both a deceptive insider and a deceptive outsider. She is this Inappropriate Other/Same who moves about with always at least two/four gestures: that of affirming “I am like you” while persisting in her difference; and that of reminding “I am different” while unsettling every definition of otherness arrived at.”  –trinh t. minh-ha, “when the moon waxes red”


no judgment came upon them
when they didn’t have mercy
your womb a holding cell

go to sleep, little one

sleep for a while
your mother isn’t here
she went to the market to buy bread

they have no time
no space for your call
no room for your life,

edges meet edges meet
knives you should’ve never

no judgment came upon them
when they marched over your back
humming scripted lies
my chains a mere
to your text.

i’m not asking you to rescue my history
the words

your holy is my inhumanity

you ask me to bear your generations
when you’ve never cared about my
you asked me to bear your
then you changed
my name

you changed my name
but in the end I’ll name
your God –

I will name our God
“the one who sees.”

we are born like this,
into this

kids walking shells
holding rage
anticipating nothing

embracing suffering
to make sense of living
this is hopeful
is that naive?

stuttering over
syllables and nonsense
phrases — who is saying

and where
can we all listen together.

we are born like this,
into this

trembling at contact
shifty eyed at connection
isolated in darkness
our mind
our worst enemy

afraid to make a phone call
or reach beyond the glass

we are born like this,
into this

ashamed of the way he walks
holds his arms by 10
because that’s not what men

descending into chaos
or inherited ghosts
we sit here in silence
who will
say the first