A Theory of Grief

By KATE GASKIN

After she died
the crocuses bloomed

and the purple phlox.
The daffodils bloomed

and the snowdrops.
The star magnolias bloomed

and the forsythia.
The crab apples bloomed

and the redbuds.
The jewelweed bloomed

and the wild stonecrop.
The rue anemone bloomed

and the oxeye daisy.
The bindweed bloomed

and the blue-eyed grass.
The grape hyacinth bloomed

and the chickweed.
The purple deadnettle bloomed

and the tickseed and the bloodroot
and the spring air

was thawed ice
and crushed petals and powdered sex

and I walked through it slantly,
stutteringly, as if driven forth by

a nightmare, seeing everything
through the new prism

of the sudden and horrible
dream logic of my life.

 

 

[Purchase Issue 29 here.]

Kate Gaskin is the author of Forever War, winner of the Pamet River Prize. Her poems have appeared in The American Poetry Review, The Southern Review, and Ploughshares, among other journals. She has received support from the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and the Vermont Studio Center.

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

A Theory of Grief

Related Posts

October 2026 Poetry Feature: David Barber and David Lehman

DAVID BARBER
Sometimes a marvel of meteorology, the makings of a hypothesis. / Sometimes historical, sometimes supernatural, sometimes hearsay – / Sometimes a little bird tells someone it’s raining sprats on the isthmus. / Not just fish – sometimes showers of frogs, the odd lizard or elver.

Two Poems by Dalia Taha, translated by Sara Elkamel

DALIA TAHA
All we own are our lips / and the pupils of our eyes—the car / will plow into all of this. / And still, life is far too complex / for words like victory or defeat. // Life is Salma on the balcony / moving plants to bigger pots, in her eyes / the settlement’s lights. 

Headshot of Brionne Janae

September 2026 Poetry Feature

BRIONNE JANAE
did you keep your mind? / you got to walk it for yourself / and on returning what state did you find it in? / as in what state were you in? / were you where you left yourself? / and who was left? / was anyone left? / and how sure were you that you could reach them?