The poetry of Alexis Pearson

The end of everything

We have made it back,
Here again
We find ourselves
Where our skin crawls
With the whispers
Of the beating sun
And the grass curls
Like every lock of hair
That falls into my eyes
And maybe the soil
Sees herself in the specs of brown
That dance beside my irises
And if that be the welcome home
To all the dirt
That coats my hands and feet
Then let the flowers grow
And your brow will furrow,
I told you miracles grow like flowers
And you said flowers die
Like dreams when we are too busy living,
And I said even dead flowers can be pretty
And you said pretty things don’t die.



Some unsolicited advice

The grass is trembling again
And I want to stroke it
With my pruned fingers and tell it
That none of us are sure of anything,
And that even that leaves our mouths
With inflections as if maybe
Or maybe not
There’s truth to it.
So I guess if there’s any advice
I could give that would mean anything
It would be this:
Move with the wind when it blows
And do it with a smile
And maybe they’ll mistake
Our quivering for dancing.

Alexis Pearson is 22 years old and has been writing poetry since she was very young, and in the past several years she has really worked on finding her voice as a writer. She is from Minnesota and studies English at St. Cloud State University. Her two published works can be found in the literary journal published annually by her school called Upper Mississippi Harvest. Her work is born from a deep, overwhelming need to write, to leave something behind in the wake of life. For years she has worked on molding her writing into the kind of poetry that is so enthralling that, upon reading it, it is read two or three times in quick succession because one time just wasn’t fulfilling enough. She often finds herself sitting on the floor of bookstores with a poetry book in her hands, completely engrossed in the writing and touched by how relevant the poetry is to her own life. She has aspired to create that same atmosphere with her poetry and hopes to create life from language, a quest that is never-ending.


  1. Thoroughly enjoyed Ms. Pearson’s poetry. She’s coming close to her goals, too. I do have to say her friend is a fool. Beautiful things die all the time, usually in ugly ways. At the end of the movie Chinatown, Faye Dunaway’s character is killed. When director Roman Polanski was asked about the ending–and remember his wife Sharon Tate was murdered by the Manson family, he remarked, That’s what happens in LA. Beautiful women die.


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