Poetry by Diane Solis

Daedalus and the Fragrance of Nectarines

Yes, I’d give anything
not to yearn for your sweet
tangle and glitter like this
--swallow my fear,
leap out of this sky
to hold you while I fall.

How many pelicans
do you think there are
in Pelican Bay? I look
down, down, down
knowing two things:
the fragrance of nectarines

you eat while I pretend and try
not to breathe comes as sweet
across the jet-stream. And,
I gave everything in love’s
rhythmic enfolding to search
and pine for you like this.

In the timeless space
where we all leave
the ten thousand things to enter
the kingdom together, may I
reach you again, may we,
one day be joyous forever.



I tell my mother
I dreamed of you
again last night.

She tells me,
“Your brothers
dream of him

every night.”
But they tell me
they don’t.

Dad, I don’t know
why she would
say that. Do you?

And from the depths
of darkness
deeper than dark,

from the void
that only
Love can fill,

You may never
understand what she
puts herself through.

The day will come
when you will
turn the page

and move on.
Don’t desert yourself
in the process…

but keep forgiving
her for being

even if
she never learns
to forgive you.


Wrong Number

In my dream we found her,

the larger of that pair
of barn owls we had been
watching, her wings
like a gold and white shawl
folded about her.
I lifted with great care
touching beneath them
her skin pillowed with down
soft and fine as your hair,
and we buried her.

Now    the silence

after the phone rings
     in our room
in this strange new darkness
     of night with no stars
and no compass or bearing.
     The unwitting intruder
tore open
     a dream,
     the strange waking
moments when I still
     sense you here.

Wrong number.

You are gone?  I’m alone
in our room, with the harshness
of grief, stinging and shrill
as the other owl’s
screeching out there.
He    may will himself
to die, as some owls do,
one of these moonless,
starless nights    longing
to fly with the one we buried.

Gone with you


The grief poems of Diane Solis have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, excerpted in a book by Judy Reeves about the craft of writing in community, and excerpted in journals and magazines, including, About Place Journal, America Magazine, and Ardor Literary Magazine. In 2005 her life partner died suddenly when they were both too young. Since then Diane has been traveling to remote places to photograph and write about the wildness she encounters there.

Kristi DiLalloComment