Indelible line drawn with precision

From a shrouded mind along her spine

Drenching broken heart fragments

Deep into the ink pot of existence

Then painting strength into vertebrate

As a backbone emerges from the ashes


Sabrina Escorcio


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Wooden Spoon


We didn’t have to ask
The memories told themselves
Over tiramisu and espresso
While the smoke lingered
Off Nonna’s birthday candles
And Zia’s stale cigarette
That sat perched on her lips
Appearing glued in place
Their story rolled out like fog
Clouding vision
Just enough
To disguise their tears
As they reminisced
And we listened to bay city rollers
Huddled beneath a tiny radio
That balanced on the windowsill
The metronomic hum and thud
of the clothing dryer in the kitchen
Set the pulse of their conversation.

They kissed loved ones goodbye
Wearing clothes made of fabric
They could not afford
It was the sixties
Where damp cheek kisses
Replaced words of apprehension
Fear wrapped delicately
Within fantasy once fed forcefully
By the wooden spoon of heritage
Then regurgitated over Atlantic waves
Their stomachs emptied
That no dream could fill
Lost somewhere between
The warm Genoa sky
And a cold rocky
Dartmouth crest
A two week hollowing of sorts
This pilgrimage set forth
Within the belly of their dream
That roared and ached until satisfied
Left to carve faith from their bones
Then use it as a buoyant reverie
Preserving life
Securing hope
Refining their dream

Sabrina Escorcio
April 2018

Heritage series

Photo credit to Alfred Eisenstaedt



I want to fold you into me
carry promises like the
words you once wrote
on ivory parchment
in black ink
with letters that curved
and bowed
into fluid vows
inscribed by heart
tuck you precisely between
the safety of my rib cage
where truth remains, still
untouched by time
to reside
to endure
within each pulse echo

Sabrina Escorcio




Gently you caress
the rim of your cup,
in every last sip.
Each day
you return to it,
just as much in need.
As your calloused fingers
grasp alabaster porclean,
I sit across the table
in our solitary togetherness.
Unsure if I am to be envious
of the vessel itself,
or the liquid that fills it.
So I ponder…
slowly fading into the paper
that lines the walls of my mind.
coffee sits bitter
on my tongue.
I have no choice
but to swallow it down.

Sabrina Escorcio

Our First Night

Screen Shot 2018-03-04 at 7.02.29 PM


Carry me darling,
to where it began.

Do you recall…
we etched our names
into soft winter pine
as we lay bare
on slatted floors
cushioned only by words.
Tucked under a bed
of youthful dreams.

Do you remember
this place within
the labyrinth of our chaos.
You created perfect calm
in the midst of our storm.
Built a fire for us
to keep winters chill
from settling in our bones.

Where we danced
like gypsies holding hands,
under the moon
as our mentor.
Bodies moving in sync
to its illuminating melody.
As the fires’ crackling tongues
softly licked our imagination
well into the morning.

I will save the memory
my dearest love,
when we held one another
watching winter
as it fell upon the earth
to blanket what was,
our very first night.

Sabrina Escorcio




I woke to a dream
where cicadas hummed louder
than my mind could speak.
Where the earth cried out
each sin from within its depths,
a spring from past delusion
flowed out of bedrock
as blood through my viens.

I remained there, asleep
with eyes wide open
to never see the sun,
in search for darkest light.
Upon a bed of soil and mulch,
where roots lined my bed
just as the bones of my ribs
encase the truth within its cage.

Sabrina Escorcio

Photo credit unknown, please advise.

Great Willow


I come to her often,
bring my soul along
hoping to hear her whisper.
Yet today,
the echo of silence
booms loudly in my ears.
Instead I sit
heart in hand,
this meagre devotion
It pales in comparison,
as her beauty resounds
within the silence
of the morning breeze.
A fragrant offering yielded freely.
Her generous gift upon a world
too busy being busy
to see her majestic
gift of grace.
Without a word
she touches,
the outline of my heart
emptying it of ill.
I look up to see her
ars outstretched,
tendrils of absolution
within her divine embrace
of living things.
Her and I.
I and she.
With prayers that rise
for her to grasp,
place like ornaments
upon her limbs;
that in time
I may become less
and her more.

Sabrina Escorcio

Photo source unknown, please advice.

Freedom Chains


How do I let go
of what once was deliverance
from this prison of self.
The perfect remedy,
I willfully ingested
with reckless abandon,
now malignant.
Coiled about my ribs,
wrapping me in
sedentary sadness.
I am anchored here
in place,
by my very own
chains of freedom.

Sabrina Escorcio





As memories burn,
smoke lingers thick
and I am left here
with blurred vision
from a mind’s eye
that stings with regret.

Just enough,
to impair vision.

Just enough,
to weaken judgement.

So, with an open mouth
I make another attempt
to gasp for a swill of air,
eager to receive relief;
the breath of reconciliation,
to fill hopeless lungs.

Yet, I inhale instead
n unforgiving gulps,
from charred embers
that smoulder among reality,
these singed bittersweet
remnants of our past.

Just enough,
to stifle promise.

Just enough,
to choke on consequence.

Memories continue to singe
in truth’s refining fire.
it is our story that burns,
of a love that turned,
into the tragedy that is us.


Sabrina Escorcio

 Photo credit to Kiara Rose – Via



There is a home
within mind,
I choose
to cling to.

The absence of light
hides indifference.
Chisels warn
carving idols of stone
that crumble to dust.

Building in darkness
a castle from ruins,
furnishing rooms
with pride and hope.

Forgotten ghosts
wander reckless;
painting on walls,
portraits of past
for me
to observe.
to never forget,
who it is that I am.

Queen of my castle.
on my knees
in this kingdom I hide

Sabrina Escorcio

Photo credit to Antonio Mora

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