Gram’s Highest Calling

I hadn’t seen Gram at her normal function of serving since those days when I often joined her for her lemon pie. Not because she made it best, but because she needed me to receive it. Her God-given role of serving was dismissed when Gramps passed the nicer way; ‘Goodbye,” he’d whispered, then departed.

Time to let her go, service to others fulfilled. Her release not comforted with him at her side. She’d served her mission the best she could.

Mother phoned this morning. I heard the message in the ring. “She’s gone. It’s all done, but not all said.”

From Guest Contributor The Poet SPIEL

Established communicator of the arts, 81-year-old internationally published queer author/artist, storyteller, The Poet Spiel, writes of social conflict, satire noir, and personal hurdles.

Disruptions

People, she thought, were like gadgets. They could be tucked away neatly into white boxes, each waiting to fulfill their role. Friends, family, coworkers—they each had their own purpose in her life, and she never let them stray. Few coworkers ever became friends, and even fewer friends became family. Nobody crossed the inner circles of her life without her permission. And then, there was him. The glitter explosion that disrupted her perfect life, bringing just a little mess with him, wherever he went. She now carried that intoxicating aura as it radiated from her chest in amber waves: Bull’s-eye.

From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott

Kelsey is a senior majoring in English with a minor in Visual Arts and Spanish while also being involved in the campus literary magazine Angles. She plans on furthering her education by getting her masters degree in English as well. Her work has been published in Entropy Squared, The Dribble Drabble Review’s Spring 2021 issue, and Otoliths in February 2021.

Quick Examples Of Homonyms

“To bare one’s soul is a difficult thing indeed,” Pappa said.

Baby Bear tried to balance on one leg and fell over.

“Not that type of sole, dear,” Mamma confided, helping her son to his feet.

“What sort of education is that school providing,” Poppa growled, we can barely bear the annual fees. They don’t mete out value for honey.”

“Only the bare essentials, dear,” Momma said, ladling porridge. “That principal, Goldilocks, operates under the principle that bears have no role in The Academie.”

“I must meet her.”

“Deer meat – where?” Baby Bear licked his lips.

Poppa rolled his eyes.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid