 I wrote this poem several years ago when I was driving from Wisconsin to Washington State. It was inspired by an event that took on Highway 12 in Montana. Day of the Dead. Have you ever stroked the nose by being porcupine? It's sublime. Delicate, small, brown, furred face. Even in death, it displays innocence. Benign, soft face. Paradox partner to spiky pointed wills. And your paws. My, what big claws you have. Oh yes, the better to climb trees with. That prickly, slow pace. Not quick enough to save you from someone's speeding car. I am sorry, dear one. How may I stop, honor you, place you respectfully alongside the road? You rest now, cushioned, caressed by tall September grass. Thank you for letting me see you today. Thank you for letting me touch you. Thank you for touching my life.