Read “Entanglements,” a poem by the Late Author

“Entanglements”

March 28
Black cat, amiable visitor,
let’s give each other
all the pleasure we can, quick,
yes, sitting on each other
in the sunlight and stroking
each other with our hands and faces,
being warm and tender and enjoyable,
yes, we should enjoy each other
while we are in the sun together
because all my black cats here
die and my friend here
dies by his own hand that lifts
and lifts the glass and the sunlight
doesn’t last long here
with the land-wind blowing
and blowing tender and relentless
to the salt abyss, no place
for a cat or a friendship.

Night of March 28–29
Black cat don’t twist my heart
around your crying
crouched at my door
with a dusty forehead, all night
crying and waiting for a person
who’s no good to you.
Is a caress a promise?

Black cat I should be the one
making plans and you living wholly.
But you are making plans
without a future and my now
is twisted into your crying.

Yes sure I should have been able
to help somehow, I should be able
to help now somehow, something
more use than a pat on the shoulder
and Hi how’s it going.

Is everything a promise?
Are all of them broken?

Drawing by Ursula K. Le Guin. © The Ursula K. Le Guin Literary Trust.

March 29
Black cat you are a fraud.
Your lady lives around the corner
and keeps her promises
or you wouldn’t be the meaty
cat the hefty cat the bully cat
you are. A neighbor told me.
I should have listened to the crows
shouting Fraud! Fraud!
down from the phonepoles at you.
Pots calling the kettle.
You beat up his calico,
the neighbor said. Black hearted.
Bloody minded. A lesson to me.

Is everything a lesson?

Black is the lesson
I am learning from my friend.
How life gets twisted
until there’s no way ever to untie it
because the future has become
the past and there is no now
no way. No way at all.

March 30
No way to love usefully.

March 31
Black cat you are a monster
wailing round the walls
and on the roof all night
crying and yowling let me in let me in
pet me pet me at three in the morning.
Caterwauling our modest affection
into a false inflated passion
a nonexistent drama of desertion
a little black misery. Oh why?
Why make us both miserable?
Why punish us? What for?
For sitting together in the sunlight?
What did we do wrong?

April 4
Little demon of innocence,
the sun’s shining, let’s caress
again and sit on each other, yes,
let’s hurry, yes, to offer
everything and count on nothing,
make and break no promises
and let no guilt
and no experience
come between the stroker and the stroked,
the offer and the offering.
Outside trust, what air
is there to breathe?

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