Half-Life & In the Season of Pink Ladies

Sayuri Ayers

Image by Niklas Hamann

Image by Niklas Hamann


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.png

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