Half-Life & In the Season of Pink Ladies
Sayuri Ayers
Image by Niklas Hamann
Half-Life
Dipping into radium,
women stroked watch faces
in factories of ticking suns.
Under dimming skies,
they streamed out
like fairy lights—
Luminous fingers,
luna moths flitting
among lace kerchiefs.
In the birthing room,
I gaze up at the clock,
its stricken arms.
Time spools out like vapor,
your arriving body
tunes, as mine falls away—
Silently, the women glide.
their brittle hands
setting bells to chime.
Gears whorl into
incandescence, as you open
your mouth and cry
In the Season of Pink Ladies
After Honeycrisp and Winesap have fallen,
another season begins. The orchard glistens
adorned in rose-gold fruit. Branches creak,
music of surrender.
On tiptoe my son shakes gnarled limbs
bringing a shower of blushing apples.
He gifts me the pretty one laced
with wormholes. He runs ahead,
slipping from me. As his shadow lengthens,
another season begins. The orchard glistens.
My son crushes fruit underfoot, their splitting,
music of surrender.
Sayuri Ayers
Sayuri Ayers' poetry and prose appear in Entropy, Hobart, The Pinch, and others. Her chapbook, Radish Legs, Duck Feet, was released by Green Bottle Press in 2016. She lives in Columbus, Ohio with her husband and young son. You can find her at sayuriayers.com.