He found it by the bed,
a green enamel cat
which, grinning, sat
beneath the lamp, coat specked with gilt,
its head
cocked slyly toward the quilt.

She said it was a whim,
she didn't even know
what made it so
attractive, but she'd bought it quick.
For him.
A striking, silly pick.

They've grown to see it as
a charm that's helped them weather
the years together:
familiar, comforting, nearby.
It has.
But only one knows why.

Max Gutmann

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Max Gutmann would be pleased to hear them.