You count the times you felt happy.
Once after a rain
while walking
the tree-lined path
through Rittenhouse Square.
Undeniably happy. Though you
couldn’t pin-point the cause.
Another time
in that same city, the first day
of your new job
when you were last to go home.
Almost kneeling on the pavement
to lock that round brass cylinder
on the bottom of the glass door.
A potted geranium
bought at lunch hour
resting in the crook of
one arm. Briefcase
on the ground.
Locking up.
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Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres. Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life.
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