Mónica Socarrás
Mónica Socarrás (she/her) is a writer and photographer on the non-linear spiral of recovery from long covid, currently with a foot in the abled and disabled dimensions. The pieces selected for this text come from gasps of rare lucidity in the depths of severe ME/CFS/LC in 2025. In her work, she explores illness as an initiatory experience, a portal to deep self-connection, and the cycle of death and rebirth in the present moment. She is also a never-ending fountain of silly, self-indulgent lesbian breakup poetry.
She writes and creates community in Lisbon, Portugal, with familial roots from the land of Abya Yala (United States and Puerto Rico).
To put myself to bed
I pass through
sliding glass doors
in my mind.
My dearest ones
know the language
i dream in.
If you heard me
talk in my sleep,
would you know
how to reply?
Bound
mountains of knuckles
hold listening
hold sound
hold
how long to climb
without knowing
how
how
how far
can you go
mother of days
Describe your table III
A candle drips
today’s wax
on yesterday’s
day dreams.
Neighbor hammers breath
easy enough to sing
mind sees
just outside itself
You ever notice how you knock the same
number of times on every door?
It’s just a moment but here we are
I breathe quietly so as not to wake it.
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