Whimsy

By Sarah M. Sala

When they enter
my brain the grass 
greens past its prime.
Sky, blue, now total
sun. In the lake, the kids
say stay, watch over us
their water wings cool 
tongues against my limbs.
Later, in the hot tub
my half skull soaks
before slinking
to a dark room.
The cure for pain
is inside the crane
that drifts heavy 
over the house. 
Men used to call
a headache 
a whimsy.



About the author:

Sarah M. Sala is the author of Devil's Lake (Tolsun Books 2020). The founding director of Office Hours Poetry Workshop, and assistant poetry editor for the Bellevue Literary Review, she teaches expository writing at New York University. Her work appears or is forthcoming in BOMB, Michigan Quarterly Review, The Southampton Review, and The Brooklyn Rail. www.sarahsala.com