In Memorium: Alexis White (1985 - 2012)

Alexis White grew up in beautiful, rainy, muddy, green Northwest Oregon. At the time of her death, she was about to receive her Masters of Fine Arts in Poetry from Oregon State University. In the closing line of an essay, she wrote that she was sitting on her back deck, which overlooked a wooded region near the edge of Corvallis when she looked up and found herself meeting the eyes of a black tailed deer:

I stop writing as we stare at each other for a long time. But I haven’t really stopped: the writing, the woods, the deer and my body are all connected in a web I’m just beginning to understand. That’s where I am from.

No Poetry
by Alexis White

I thought to see the face of beauty
Would be to see your face too
So I went to the mountains
And looked for your smile in every wildflower.

But I could not find you in the landscape
In the high desert pines or the
Deer-pressed grass
And there was nothing of your eyes
In the sun-bleached sky
Nothing of your touch in the green river
Sliding quietly past my hips
Even in the night with its black velvet hands
So dark, so soft
No poetry could fool me: I never once felt you there.

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