My Work, Themes, and The Woman Thing

We see a clear theme of feminism in "The Woman Thing" by Audre Lorde. Men are portrayed as being hunters. The hunters "challenge or task" is to search for food but they end up not finding any. They can't look at the sun because it reminds them that the day is over and they have failed.


The hunters do not find food and decide to 'hunt' for young girls for their own 'amusement.' The young girls escape the hunters and the speaker of the poem does "the woman thing" that she was taught by her mother. The speaker wants food for her own child and submits.



This poem relates to my work in more ways than one. Both my work and the poem have the theme of feminism but it relates beyond the obvious connection of a theme. My work is like the work of the hunter, although I am not looking for young girls for my own amusement. I am however trying to help the women, only I am not looking for any other favors as the poem suggests.

At Voices from the Gaps we try to help minority women by giving them a biography page. We try to make them more know and allow research on a less know artist or writer. But more than just trying to help the women, we try to help the community. We do this by bridging the gaps between literature, society, and culture.

Audre Lorde just so happens to have a biography page on our site. We give a full background of her life and we show all of her works. Check out Audre Lorde's page.

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"The Woman Thing"
The hunters are back from beating the winter’s face
in search of a challenge or task
in search of food
making fresh tracks for their children’s hunger
they do not watch the sun
they cannot wear its heat for a sign
of triumph or freedom;
The hunters are treading heavily homeward
through snow that is marked
with their own bloody footprints.
emptyhanded, the hunters return
snow-maddened, sustained by their rages.

In the night after food they may seek
young girls for their amusement. But now
the hunters are coming
and the unbaked girls flee from their angers.
All this day I have craved
food for my child’s hunger
Emptyhanded the hunters come shouting
injustices drip from their mouths
like stale snow melted in the sunlight.

Meanwhile
the woman thing my mother taught me
bakes off its covering of snow
like a rising blackening sun.