Safe to Land

The tower says wait.

Circling, circling,

the engines blaring like a question no one will answer.

I see the runway below,

but it’s cluttered—

shattered pieces of what was,

sharp edges of almost,

wreckage from the last attempt

that never quite cleared.

I was supposed to land by now.

Wheels down, feet steady,

but every time I start descent,

something shifts—

a gust of doubt,

a sudden flash of memory,

the wreckage rising like ghosts.

So I hold.

Trace the same sky over and over,

burning fuel,

waiting for clearance.

And I wonder—

how long before the weight of waiting

before it's safe to land.

Nightmares

The stuff nightmares are made of 

Are not the monsters under the bed 

The gore and lore of a Hollywood blockbuster 

An unsolved thriller 

It’s a man who is vindictive and accuses you of lying about a fellowship when you have documented proof otherwise from the fellowship and prior workplace and he sends his subordinates after your job

It’s unsolved health issues since November that have had me tested for everything in the book while my mom says baby it’s just stress you’re fine. And finally I am fine, but fuck. It was so painful

It’s a “friend” for almost a year who wants to date and you didn’t know they were interested in you and then only find out a week in you were being used for sex and they never wanted anything serious 

It’s a friend you care about dearly who ends a friendship and shocks your world when all I want is for this to not happen and we talked about being old friends so why can’t we grow old together as friends like we had said

It’s a boss looking you in your eyes and lying to you that no we aren’t firing you I’m trying to make you a better teacher only to find out from my other boss that she lied and was going to get rid of me come hell or high water because that’s what her boss wanted

It all comes in dreams that are far from dreams and I wake up more frightened and anxious than I was the day before because of what my mind made up in overnight that awoke me in sweat and screams in the dark 

It’s the pain  

So much pain 

So much pain

So much pain

So much pain 

I’m so sad

So sad

So sad 

Everyone says fuck them 

They’re toxic 

It’s not your fault 

Keep going 

You’re fine 

But that’s not how I think

I would never say fuck them 

And in some spaces I did own my shit because I always do 

And 

I only want to be the best person on earth because it’s the right thing to do

I want my heart to be seen 

Not so anyone can see how broken it is

But to see how raw and open and vulnerable and good I am 

And how hard I try

They say the cracks are where the light gets in

But right now there is no light

I want my nightmares gone 

I want to be able to sleep and rest

Because I have not had any since January 

And I don’t think they’re the bad guy except for the Supt

And I am not the victim

But I am at the mercy of someone else’s decisions that are far from my control

And begging for mercy, empathy, for this to not happen— anything from anyone who knows my character, my heart

While trying to keep my head above water and not lose my fucking will to be alive 

Because there is no peace when I am asleep or awake right now

And all I want is to be held in regard and valued and considered 

Not operating from a space of below rock bottom in my mid 40s when I should be killin’ it 

Non-Stop and Your Place is Green - 2 poems

Poem 1: “Your Place is Green” copyright 2024
جای تو سبز است ‘Your place is green’ In Farsi, the above quote means the place you should be in is now empty and green because you’re no longer in it. One of my friends has a tattoo with this saying, and this morning when I woke up it all made sense. Rachel, it is so so green in this world in all the places you would have gone, sadly because you’re not in the them. You never got to see or be in all of them. 25 years have now passed. This year I have missed you more than ALL of the others. This past week I had a meltdown where I mourned you with tears for 2-3 hours—the most I’ve cried about you since your funeral in 1999. Why? I don’t know…. But I think I do. I moved and have been very melancholy. I wish I could have called or texted you. Invited you down to my new place. Told you about the lakes and rivers and hiking trails. I also cried those tears from a place of happiness because of all of the things your life and death taught me. Because of all of the rich old and new friendships I have because after you died I made sure to always put people before everything like you strived to do. I’m so so blessed with my current friend group, especially where I moved to. Rachel, You brought people, us, together just by the sound of your laugh. You brought us together the day you left this world. Yet nothing ever can or will fill the void of you. My yellow Roman candle friend who burn, burn, burned (see quote on photo below)—today I will raise a glass or two for you. I will say as I sit around the table overlooking the San Francisco Bay this afternoon ‘here’s to a life well lived. Here’s to inspiring us all to live better, be better, love more, and remember who and what are important in life.’ I booked this trip to see a friend, yes, but to also honor your adventurous spirit that left us 25 years ago today. On my fridge is a quote next to a photo of the one person I know who burned like that Roman candle everyday she was alive-YOU. And your death is one of the major reasons I live my life the way I do, which many don't understand but that's okay. You’re still very present. You always will be. Because it’s difficult to forget someone who actually lives—someone so full of life. Until we meet again, know I’ve become a Roman candle, too, thanks to you. Because it’s the best way to live, the only way to feel alive. So today, I miss my friend. Today, I always wonder why there is such brevity in life. Today, I remember why friendships and time matters so much because we have so little of it. Today, we miss you more than all others, but are also so thankful we knew you even if for just a short time because both your life and your death changed us all. Rach you have become many empty fields of green in this life—an emptiness that we all have never been able to replace. You flew across our skies, lit them up bright, and still you and all you were remains. And someday I’ll see you again in the sky. Until then? I’ll burn bright and full of life like a Roman candle and I’ll keep walking in your empty, green fields. Looking for you, yes, but always feeling your spirit because it’s now inside of us all, especially me.


Poem 2: Non stop

There are, I believe, defining moments in one's life--moments that change a person indefinitely. This is one of those for me, and possibly the most defining moment of my life. 

When people ask my why I live my life the way I do, this is the reason.

“Why do you write like you’re running out of time?

Write day and night like you’re running out of time?

Ev’ry day you fight, like you’re running out of time

Keep on fighting

In the meantime

Non-stop"

- Hamilton, the Musical

_________________________________

20 years.

That's how long you've been gone.

I'd like to say I think about you all the time.

I don't, but I think about you often.

I wonder where you would be now at age 39.

Would you have a family, be in a far off land as a missionary, doing the mom thing, coaching?

Or was this your destiny? 
To die at 19 and leave a legacy of a contagious laugh, 
brown eyes and a smile and dimples that lit up a room, and grit. 
So much non-stop energy and grit.

Was it your destiny to die so that we might live in better ways because of the way you lived?

I don't believe so.

I think it just happened, and then we all were left in the deluge, 
trying to make sense of something that will never make sense.

I’m not convinced everything happens for a reason.

I don’t think anyone is supposed to die so young.
Ever. 

But you woke up that morning with a dream you'd had that night: 
today you'd die in a car accident.
And then you did.

Did you know?

I think about how Coach Williams left a message on my parents’ answering machine telling that you had died, 
and I got it after a long day of work.

I think about the drive to the funeral. 
The funeral. 
All of the people. 
A whole gym full. 
Silence mixed with the creaking floor, sobs, 
and a spectrum of a plethora of every flower you could imagine.

I think of hugging people I rarely talk to today. 
Comforting is such an odd thing at times.

I think of the heat and humidity and more tears and sweating at the graveside. 
As if one of those wasn't miserable enough.

I think of the following school year. 
Every part of school from sports to going to church was haunted with memories. 
You were my ride to church. 
Then, I didn't have one. 
Well, I had a car by sophomore year, so I went alone. 
We played volleyball and wrote your initials and number on our ribbons. 
In basketball, I did the same on my shoes. 
The first time I set foot on the basketball court I almost lost it. 
You and I were unstoppable on defense. 
I’d trap a girl by pushing her to a side like coach would yell out, 
and you’d cat and mouse her on the other side for the steal. 
Coach had the two of us figured out and fine tuned us down to an art. 
He was hard on us. 
Very hard on you. 
No one could match your hustle, but he believed you had even more in you. 
You didn't have more hustle that's for sure, but if you were having an off night mentally, I, too was off. 
Not because I wanted to be. 
We needed each other's strengths to get the job done well on defense. 
I could only turn a girl so many times down the court before she gave up and threw the ball to a teammate.

You should be here.

These new teammates don't know how to read me on the court like you do.  

This shouldn't be this way.

But it is.

There was no way to know.

No way to stop it.

I think about how the last day of school in May, the May before the fateful August, 
I forgot some junk in my college dorm room and got a few miles up the road and went back to get it... 
that was the last time I saw you and got to say good-bye and see you later. 
All because I forgot some things.

Left some things behind.

I've left behind a lot in the past 20 years.

Then there has been the trying to sort through the why's and how's of life and death.

We all do this, I suppose.

But this:

I’m just one of the hundreds, maybe thousands who are a part of your legacy.

How you lived changed me.

Your early death changed me.

The fact that I loved how you lived changed me.

Hear me out: I never wanted to be you.

You were loud, outgoing, and a horrible driver. 
You could be heard a dorm floor away you were so loud.
You used to crawl in the athletic room dryers at school. 
I’m good without doing all of those. ;)

 

I only wanted to live as loud as you, and it took your death to realize that.

So, if anyone asks, and people rarely do,

YOU:

You're the reason I live and write and do like I'm running out of time.

You're the reason I'm so so so scared of losing everyone all the time. 

You’re the reason I understand the brevity of life.

You're the reason I love bigger than my heart.

There’s not enough time to not want to love and give it away.

You're the reason I value my friendships and relationships more than anything.

You and your death are the reason I'm non-stop.

In memory of Rachel A. Fulsom

September 20, 1979 - August 4, 1999

Our basketball team 1998-1999. From L to R: Kayla, Cherie, Coach Williams, Carrie, Kelly, Me, Rachel, Kathleen

.

Rachel's headstone.

Nothing like a selfie with a film camera! Me and Rach, age 18 I believe. I think we took this at Nationals in Florida.

Old Soul

I’m an old soul. 

Books and red wine. 

Deep conversations and fireflies. 

Sunsets and the sun rising. 

Slow dancing and deep kisses. 

All the things I’m missing when you're not with me.

Reminiscing. 

Daydreaming.

Loving. 

Twirling in the breeze. 

Candlelight and poetry. 

Letters in the mail. 

Handwritten, at that. 

Finding myself in the woods. 

Wildflowers and wild and free. 

Old soul. 

Me.

All time low…

I’ve never been this low before. If rock bottom is a real place, I might be 6ft below that. 

Some of my friends tell me I’m fine. Suck it up. Really? 

Some are silent and don’t reply to a thing. 

Why? 

From the gal who is always there for everyone all the time…who has the best fucking heart, how is this happening to me?

How?

Why?

It’s not fair. At all.  

All within 3 weeks I lost the person I was dating, my job, and one of my closest friends.

The job was a gut punch. The friend loss? How? I didn't see that coming at all. Devastating. All of it. 

How? 

Why?

I've almost lost my will to anything.

I can't sleep, can't eat.

And the nightmares about all of it. 

There is no rest for this sadness I’ve been spun into. 

This heaviness is unbelievable.

Whatever happened to the golden rule, kindness, love, and helping each other through this crazy fucking dark world? 

Or is everyone just too busy and what not to care about people anymore? 

Does anyone believe in karma?

She’s a bitch. And I believe in her. But it’s not why I’m good to people. 

I am good to everyone because life is too too hard and too too sad to not help and be kind and be loving. 

And I love everyone, so so so much. Friends, family, everyone.

I’m like an 8 year old who lost a friend and a job, crying and begging them to come back. For this to not be real. For my heart to not be shattered. 

But I’m not. I’m 45. 

And 8 or 45? It doesn’t matter. It hurts worse at my age. 

And I wish I could just disappear and this all not be real. 

Please take this pain from me. 

Chambers.

Step gently—

My hear is fragile, oh so fragile these days.Its halls are wide with giving,

lined with tapestries of kindness,

stitches made of life, love, heartbreak, kindness, gentleness.Things I am and have always been. 
My atrium hums with loyalty,

each pulse a promise kept,

each echo words I held true to. I kept my word. I always keep my word. 

Turn the corner, past the bruised walls—

cracks and softened places

where forgiveness has pressed its hands

against the hurt and smoothed it over. Not everyone forgives. But I do. I always do. 

This heart holds no grudges. 

This chamber glows—

a room of light left on for strangers,

for those who needed warmth

and never had to ask.

Yet if you have left, know the light is always on for you. 

And here—

here is the deepest part,

the place few have seen,

where wonder still blooms like daffodils and redbuds and the dogwoods of spring,

where love is not transactional,

but a river,

endless,

without asking where it flows.

If you listen closely,

you will hear its song,

the sound of a heart

that beats only to give, beats only with purity. 

Search it to its depths. 

Oh, There is no fault in my heart

Oh never on purpose. 

My heart is a pure as when I was child. 

Yet sadly more wounded and despondent.