Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty-year writer and the author of 12 published books of fiction and poetry and 5 stage plays. She has been nominated 21 times for the Pushcart Prize in both fiction and poetry. Her play ‘The Crooked Heart’ concerning artist Jackson Pollock premiered on October 25, 2022 at the Irish Repertory Theatre in NYC. Adapted from an earlier novel, it was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. Another play, LADY IN A POST BOX, co-written with poet and writer Ciaran O’Driscoll is moving toward production in Ireland. Her play CLANDESTINE is making the rounds. OFFICE, a Novel was re-printed as a Second Edition. Susan is a Brand Ambassador for The Galway Review.
http://www.susantepper.com
EASTER SUNDAY
By Susan Isla Tepper
My little sister, who is six, has to sit on my lap because the church is packed for Easter Sunday. Our mother drove the three of us, which includes my brother. But she never comes inside for Mass. She drops us off then comes back in an hour and a half to pick us up.
We all have on new Easter outfits. It’s a tradition. Our mother took me first to Abraham & Strauss. With her help I picked out a beautiful emerald-green dress with no sleeves. The fabric is linen, our mother told me, but that stiff kind that won’t crinkle easily. For the coat I chose a navy-blue bouclé wool, very light-weight since the weather is still chilly on and off. It has a double row of brass buttons, military style. A lot of the spring clothes are in the military style. I saw khaki colored dresses and blouses with epaulettes on the shoulders, though America has not officially entered the war in Southeast Asia.
Before church, the first thing we do is check the dining room table where three big Easter baskets sit. Each is draped in a different colored sheer paper. Mine always in yellow, little sister gets the pink and our brother the blue. He attacks his basket every year, tearing off the clear paper and sampling each piece of chocolate. Solid chocolate bunnies, chocolate eggs with marshmallow, and some with cream filling or cocoanut. Lots of jelly beans scattered into the fake green straw at the bottom.
I make a tiny hole at the edge of my clear yellow and take out a small chocolate egg. Little sister follows what I do, but out of her pink basket. Father, who makes the baskets up, always calls our bother’s basket a travesty.
During Mass little sister sits quietly on my lap without fussing. She has on a sweet plaid dress with perfect smocking that our mother sewed from a Butterick pattern, and a pretty coat of soft wool in a light beige shade. Her shoes are shiny black patent leather with straps and a bow.
Our brother, impatient, fiddles in the pew in his new suit and tie; impatient to get back to his Easter basket.
When we arrive home savory smells fill us the moment the door opens. Leg of Lamb is roasting, and two kinds of potatoes, plus all the trimmings. Aunts will bring the pies in a few hours along with the uncles and cousins. Our mother has the dining room table already set with matched china plates and the lace cloth. Easter baskets have been moved into our bedrooms.
Little do we know what is to come. What is in store for our brother and our boy cousins when they turn eighteen in a couple of years.
Glenn Bowie is a published poet, lyricist, and photographer from the Boston area. He also owns and operates an elevator company that supplies custom-built elevators for clients from New England to Hollywood. Author of two poetry and photograph collections (Under the Weight of Whispers and Into the Thorns and Honey) on Big Table Publishing, he donates all profits from his books to various charities for the homeless and local animal shelters.
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