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Cheryl Boyer "Six Feet Away"

I don’t hear him arrive,

my father,

here to parse a fallen tree

into manageable pieces.


I hear the chainsaw,

hike the path,

wave to him from a distance

safe for us both.


I want to stand guard

as if he’s never used a power tool,

hasn’t worked with his hands

his whole life.


Is it because he could have died

seven summers ago

from a freak accident

when working alone?


Or is it the fragility of this time

that causes caution?

Bio: Cheryl Boyer is a wife, adoptive mom, and former foster mom. Her poetry collection, Counting Colors: a journey through infertility, was born out of her need to work through her own grief, and her hope is that it will encourage women traveling their own journey and offer perspective to those who love them. Cheryl spends her days home-schooling, working jigsaw puzzles, reading, and regularly sneaking a bit of dark chocolate. You can find her at

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