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Canyon Lake

The poet reminisces about the idyllic holidays spent with his ‘Grammy’ and ‘Grampy’ at Canyon Lake. But after their death, the poet feels his childhood slip through his ‘fingers like sand.’

Grammy and Grampy 

As we called them

Resided in a serene Texas suburb

A long drive from the big and flashy city we lived in

The sound of an owl hoot echoed for miles 

Deer and Doe roamed the land blissfully 

Their house directly faced the beautiful blue body of water 

Known as Canyon Lake

I loved Grampy dearly

But my relationship and connection with Grammy was special

Her hugs were as warm as blankets 

Her voice was as soothing as honey in tea 

Grammy would visit me before bed

Sitting by my bed and held my hand until I fell asleep

So the last thing I felt was the warm and loving touch of her hands 

Even as I grew older and felt less deserving of this type of affection

She never waivered

We would visit them routinely for various holidays 

Arriving with excitement 

Leaving with sorrow 

But always expecting to see them again

Never knowing one time would be our last 

It all happened so fast

They moved into a nearby retirement home

Their house that I loved and cherished was sold without warning

And after months of illness 

Grampy died 

Grammy now lived alone and a long drive away

But was always a phone call away

Even if we didn't talk every day

The knowledge of her being there was enough to get me through the day 

One day, I felt the strong urge to call her and check-in

But I never did

I clung to my blind and stubborn belief that she would always be there 

She died the next day

I never knew the last time was the last time 

I would never be able to feel her hugs 

Hear her soothing voice 

Hold her warm hands

All of a sudden, I felt my childhood slip through my fingers like sand

We recently went back to scatter their ashes 

It was our first time back since we visited them last

Their house had new owners 

The animals that once frolicked were nowhere to be seen

I stood in front of the now dreadfully dark dam

Known as Canyon Lake

Canyon Lake: Welcome

Bruce Hurley is a junior at The Kinkaid School and loves to write all forms of poetry. He has been published in the literary magazine: Falcon Wings, and has won multiple Silver Keys in the Scholastic Art and Writing competitions. 

Canyon Lake: Text
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