The Betrayal of Objects

by Philomena Moriarty

The sidewalk moves up to trip

       the peas fall from the fork

The vase shatters dangerous

       the engine refuses to turn

The screen freezes

       or grows dark and unreachable

Like Gulliver we are tied down

       by Lilliputian strings

Of closets that bulge, drawers that crowd

       surfaces of chaos

The papers rise everyday

       out of control on the desk

We yearn to rise to a mountaintop

       release spirit among the trees

But what of these insults

       the liver, the lungs, the legs failing

And finally the heart, that phenomenal  heart

       finally that too

       betrays us

~

Philomena Moriarty is a local poet living in East Greenbush and author of My Moon Self. You can find her at several open mics. Her poems often have psychological and spiritual themes. She is psychotherapist in private practice in East Greenbush who specializes in trauma work.