VISITING BUTLER’S ARCHIVES, PASADENA CA, CIRCA 2020 

after orientation |  left to the wilderness

of the sterile library | uncivilized and a fascination

to some people | here | papers laid to rest in this cream

prestige sanctum | stiff marbling a garden of politics

shy | though not gushing the color of blood

afforded a privilege | grateful for the route 

inside the huntington | backed by ivy | the route 

is minimal | having navigated | the wilderness

of the security system | the technicalities of bleeding

in a brown body | in the box of photos | Octavia fascinates

her eyes | bangs permed and curled as in political 

stance against her brows | a plain shirt | no collar | cream

she stares into her future | pupils centered in cream 

beckon | why are you here | an innate route

of exploration | what have you learned | political

rantings | insecurities | clippings | outline the wilderness

of Butler’s mind | each document fastens 

read her journals | see the self bleeding

alone but shared | doubt and unworth blotting

accolades | don’t mention this |  instead cram

a new companion | Octavia’s blues | brood fascinated 

to entries as though them a reflection | as if she the route

in which to be seen | sorrow | a wilderness

tunnelled in | our appearance is a statement of political 

warfare even though | we ain’t aiming | for political

simply vexing | to breathe | trying to bleed

and have it march the body like a wilderness

her likeness peaks curiosity | interrogate | gleam

Butler | nebula of night | became an unexpected route 

onto | even if only in the dead | it is still fascinating 

to be seen | if it is only dark | brief | it is still fascinating

to be alive | sometimes to go on | living | is political

even if only attempting to map | the route

to the self | beyond ache | even if the eyes are bleeding

there is a prayer | someone cropped and creamed 

in which you might grow | to be | your own | wilderness

let our hearts be fascinated | let our minds be a wilderness

let my spiritual be political |  if the skin is uncreamed 

a bit more tangled is the route | a bit more deadly is bleeding 

— Porsha Olayiwola