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Poetry by Andrew Yule in Calgary Poetry Magazine
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Published November 19, 2016

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Loss

Heart.Loss.Pain.
With every beat comes pain.
I can still hear your laugh, your voice,
It rings in my ears like a solid bass.
My body shakes, fingers tremble, it’s like an earthquake.
I can’t feel you here, my surroundings are dusty and baron.
But
When I close my eyes, I see you
Standing here, staring at me like a silhouette of the man I used to know,
You show no emotion, but I feel everything that we lost.

The loss it’s too much too handle
My tears streak down my face like a river with no form,
I can taste the muddy murky waters that have cut across my face,
The acrid smell, the salty taste.
These scars are all I have, they are all I have left of you.
It’s for you a thousand times over.



Arms

Everyone used to tell me I had long arms. I told them the scars gave them
life. They told me I was a loser. My arms were like spruce branches
covered channels, leaves and borrowed homes for creatures I wouldn’t let
in. My arms kept everyone at distance. They were the boundries that kept
everyone at bay, I needed them at away.

Now my arms hold everyone close. My arms do the lifting. They hold my life
up so I can hold yours higher.  My arms still have scars. But it’s these scars
now make me stronger. The scar tissue has built an armor to the outside
barrage of hateful words.  These words, they are what used to bring me
down, now they make stronger.

My father once told me hugs change in threes. “The first one is the hardest,
the second is a little easier and the third feels amazing”. We’re now on hug
five hundred and forty-seven. It was hard at first just like he said. But now I
found a use for these gnarly long arms. These spruce branches wrap
around you just right.

My Father told me “These arms will hold up the world for you”. Now I see
that we was right, there’re the foundation to who we are. Sometimes they
shake under all the weight of the world. But the scar tissue that has built
up over the years gives me the extra strength that we need.

Seven years. You have been with me now for seven years. Each year has
been a new experience.  Each year has brought me closer to being the man
he was. I strive to be the best for you. To be the man he was.

Now you call me dad. You have the same look I had in my eyes when I was
your age. Now I tell you, “Son, the first hug is the hardest, the second is a
little easier and the third feels amazing”. Now let’s find a use for your arms.
They are smaller than mine, but they do the job way better than me. “One
thousand two hundred and seventy-six” you now tell me.


Biography
Andrew Yule: I am a third year Bachelor of Arts-English student at Mount
Royal University.  I am 27 years old and a proud Calgarian. I have been
writing poetry off and on now for about 10 years. Some of my favorite
poets are the classics like: Wordsworth, Shakespeare, Yeats, Blake,
Ginsberg, Tennyson, Browning, Donne, Kempe, and Lady Mary Wroth.
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Poetry by Andrew Yule

Loss
Arms
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