In science class, she gazes
out the window onto Lincoln Street
where she steps off a bus each morning
navigating the labyrinth of past-present-future:
ceasefire violation by ceasefire violation,
most of the peace talks broke down.
It is easier to make war than peace.
Octavia E. Butler, a kindred spirit,
soars like a black electric pole
one head above giggly high school girls
along Muir High School’s stone staircase.
I walk the hallways of her old school,
and visit her diaries and writings
in the colonial garden that sweeps
the redlined streets of Pasadena,
the city she called home.
In her books, she tells us
stupid wars will kill people,
maim and impoverish still more,
spread disease and hunger,
and set the stage for the next war.”
A visionary,
perhaps she knew
her stories would be textbooks.
Perhaps she knew
her face would be painted
in her high school library mural
where her eyes like a telescope
would gaze upon students
in 2024, the year she predicted the truth:
genocide for water and land
—and resistance for survival.
Copyright © 2025 by Sehba Sarwar. Published in Altadena Poetry Review, edited by Lester Graves Lennon. Reprinted by permission of the poet.