Poetry By EJ Breysse

Nicholas_T CC




It’s you and me kid

Hospice is a scary word, 
one people rarely come back from. 
He didn’t this week. 

This is the third time I have spent
days and days in these quiet halls, 
makes me wish to not be an adult anymore. 
I want to go back to when I ran, I played, and they would run with me. 

The grief is never ending, cyclical, sparked by the smallest thing. 
How do you grieve before someone is gone? 
I’ve been mourning him since the day of the diagnosis. 

I’d seen this disease before, 
the removal of memory, the stripping of him, piece by piece. 

My mother, the nurse, knows what to do, 
I have just been really good at faking it for a year now. 
I am tired, and I know he was too. 

Take rest pops. Breathe easy now.


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EJ is a Queer Seattle adjacent writer. She loves going for walks and cooking when she isn't writing. More of her work can be found on her instagram @ejwantstobeapoet.