Andrew Cyr

I was a kid— that’s what Granddad called me riding his tractor, giggling in the breeze, peaches, sheep—sharp baa. I held the wheel. measuring myself against him. Years rolled by. Mom left for Ray in Idaho. He spoke with his hands— left her black and blue, yellowing, stitched brow. Grandparents caught wind— came down. I told him where Ray lived while she lay under in … [Read more...] about Echoes on the Farm, By: Andrew Cyr

A brisk haze hangs— crisp air drifts, heat pushes through the vents, warming my hands. Mia took me to hike. "Iris" drifts through the speakers. Mia sings— thumbs the wheel. Just south of Trout Lake, glacier-clad tower. Mount Adams has new meaning. I grab her hand. She smiles. She waited for a proposal— one she thought might never come. I held it in, didn't say … [Read more...] about When Iris Plays, By: Andrew Cyr

Ellie bartended— minimum wage, tips, rent money, cash for Rachel's treatment. Crowded, voices raised, pool balls crack— a haze beneath the dim lights. A gal smoked, flicked ash, waiting for a date. "Unwritten Law" drifted through the speakers. She twirled a stripper pole— fired after one hour— punched a patron dead on the nose. He had it coming; the club … [Read more...] about Minimum Wage, Maximum Fight, By: Andrew Cyr

It was half past us sinning— a gusty gale before summer's end, fading between the blinds. Evergreen candles flickered. Cherry pie baked—hers popped. Afterward, loving before we should, Sabine bawled— moaned—hardly quivered, lip bitten, satiation overflowing. We dressed, sank into the couch, our palms sweaty. "Maybe—" "We've been over this," I said, stroking her … [Read more...] about Afterward, Grace, By: Andrew Cyr

I left the porch on— Estella took the long way, Headlight swept shadows. … [Read more...] about Night Journey, By: Andrew Cyr