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@theloverstomb / theloverstomb.tumblr.com

I was a woman who thought of dead things. All the time. I couldn’t help it.
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theloverstomb
maryblackwood
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eternal--return

I felt a still busyness, an intent. I felt hands round a tea mug, dull, blunt, Ringing the white china. How they awaited him, those little deaths! They waited like sweethearts. They excited him. And we, too, had a relationship— Tight wires between us, Pegs too deep to uproot, and a mind like a ring Sliding shut on some quick thing, The constriction killing me also.

Sylvia Plath · “The Rabbit Catcher.” The Collected Poems (1981)

#words#on death
theloverstomb
derangedrhythms
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derangedrhythms
It’s an odd thing, but I’ve always believed that the dead are somehow connected to the weather, as if they were the ones who made it snow, as if they were present, somehow, in those gusts of wind that blow in from the distance, seeking me out, like spirits trying to communicate.

John Burnside, from ‘The Dumb House’

#words#on death#ghosts