A Litany for Survival

By Audre Lorde

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.

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Reflection

Some people think survival looks triumphant.

A victory speech.
A clean comeback.
A smiling photograph taken after the storm has passed.

But most survival is quieter than that.

It looks like getting up tired.
Answering the call you didn’t want to take.
Holding yourself together in public.
Continuing while afraid.
Breathing through another day no one knows was hard.

That’s where Clifton and Lorde meet.

Clifton gives us celebration—not because life has been gentle, but because it has failed to erase her.

Lorde gives us the other half of that truth:

Many of us were never promised safety to begin with.

So we learn to live with uncertainty.
To speak while shaking.
To love while vulnerable.
To keep going without guarantees.

That’s what makes A Litany for Survival powerful.

It does not pretend fear disappears.

It says fear is already here.

The waves are already breaking.
The night is already dark.
The risks are already real.

So the real question becomes:

What will you do now?

Stay silent to avoid danger?
Shrink yourself to be acceptable?
Wait for a safer moment that may never come?

Or speak.
Create.
Love.
Become.

Even now.

Especially now.

That’s the mature version of resilience people don’t talk about.

Not bravery without fear.
Bravery with full knowledge of fear.

Not confidence.
Commitment.

Not immunity to harm.
Refusal to disappear.

And that is worth celebration.

Not because the world was kind.
Because it wasn’t.

And still—you remained.

---

Reflection Prompts

• Where have you mistaken fear for a signal to stop?
• What part of yourself has been waiting for “safer conditions” to emerge?
• How would your life change if survival itself counted as success?

---

There’s a truth underneath both poets:

You do not need perfect conditions
to keep becoming.

Sometimes the bravest thing you do
is continue
while the storm is still in progress.