Porcupines

By Mike Panasitti

There are days 
the glaring Sun 
weakens me, 
as do Egyptian geese,
& goslings become prey 
in shallow waters. 

Yet otters, 
when they lavish 
whelps with affection, 
are a sight to see. 

I never feared 
one day I’d grow 
thorny or mutter, 
Humans can be 
porcupines. 
Everyone 
should know. 

Borderlines—
get too close, 
it’s only a matter 
of time before 
someone 
gets poked. 

Like the day 
I poked a bb 
in my brother—whose 
name became a bother. 

With a push, he fated
my fretting finger to falter 
unlike my father, 
who bought
me a Gibson, 
couldn’t haggle the guitar,

and once 
fretfully
alternated slapping
hands onto both 
sides of my face 

yet rescued an otter
when we lived in the first 
of countless cul-de-sacs. 
The critter bailed, 
like I did several times 
thanks to Mutter and Vater.

In German, the word for nutria 
is Otter, creatures far 
cuddlier than borderlines—
beasts cursed with the prickly 
skill of making skins thin, 
like so many porcupine quills. 

Mike Panasitti is an artist and recovery educator residing in Orange and Los Angeles Counties.  Formerly a doctoral candidate in anthropology at UC Berkeley and a patient at California’s Department of State Hospitals, Mike is currently a student in the MFA program at Chapman University.  His writings, which frequently explore themes of popular culture as well as mental health recovery, have appeared in WALL Literary Journal, Oprelle Publishing’s Matter, The Awakenings Review and Chiron Review.