Rough Guide to Sacramento
There will never be enough to drink.
You can smash the phone. It's yours.
The house is cold. Bring a stocking cap.
Don't worry about the living room with no furniture. Lie on the rug to watch tv.
The dark wood is beautiful but it will not save you.
You have done unforgivable things here. You will continue to do so.
From the third floor, all you can see is trees.
Sit on the back porch over the alley with a coffee, a man, a drink. Watch the rats run
down the edges. Wait for the garbage truck.
Buy a table with pink legs for your birthday, throw a dinner party. Invite your friends.
Remember your father's hand across your chest like a seatbelt. Strap in.
Melissa Walker's writing has appeared or is forthcoming in several outlets, including Orion Headless, Denver Quarterly, Sentence, Parable Press, Ignavia, Wunderkammer Poetry, Disembodied Text, and Yes, Poetry. She holds an MFA from the School of the Art Institute, and blogs about spirituality at Not God, But God.