Tess Lockhart

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Tess Lockhart

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Hast Thou Not Eyes to See?

Tess Lockhart

How can you say 

you didn’t know 

how quickly life can fall apart? 

It happens all the time. 


A two-year-old just right there one moment

slips beneath sparkling water, 

breathes in, breathes out, turns blue.


Someone texting “I’m almost there”

looks up to see the car ahead 

stopped for the golden retriever

chasing the ball into the street.

Too late brakes screech.

Real-life bumper cars crash.

The dog yelps and the eyes of the boy,

wide with horror, dim.

He was just playing with his dog.


Life comes unmoored all the time 

with stock phrases:

“I want a divorce.”

“I’m afraid it’s cancer.” 

“We have to let you go.”

“I regret to inform you”

that life is always slipping away. 


Ask the soldier who just got a light

from his buddy next to him

before he stepped on a mine 

and was blown into sudden fire,

while he survived asking, “Why?”

never suspecting, though knowing,

it happens all the time.


Somewhere right now someone 

is watching a steady monitor decline

into oblivion, wondering 

what could have been done

that wasn’t.

Or they’re watching paramedics try in vain

to start the heart of one who

was just having her morning coffee

before sudden collapse. 


A virus slips into a cell 

and begins giddy proliferation,

commandeering, hot-wiring

nuclear material to go on 

its killing spree before anyone

can think to call 911.

All around lives crumple.

Ask any cop, ICU or ER nurse; 

they’ll tell you.


It happens all the time—

the hand reaching to pick 

the novel fruit,

thinking nothing of it

as all around creation groans.


The prophets see and warn

but too few listen

to the depressive coots

until the sudden something

surprises them, too,

eyes widening before slipping

beneath the drowning knowledge. 

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