Coyote Gunnyon
Bio
I am a writer and musician based out of central Washington.
Stories (10/0)
Where You Raised Me
To my dearest mother, You lay in that bed, covered with two blankets all the way up to your chin. You look like a babe, waiting to be put to sleep. But you are not. You are sick. I know this. But does everyone else? Everyone wants to hang on as long as they can. The others, they think we can all survive somehow. We can’t. That is the saddest part, knowing that you are ready to pass. You are tired of your pain, of this constant struggle.
By Coyote Gunnyon6 days ago in Confessions
The Happy Tattoo Parlor
The Place Somewhere deep in The Emerald City of Washington State, there is what is called "The Devil's Hole." It leads to the deepest cavern, in the deepest part of the known world. Yet, no one has ever traversed it. No one has ever found it. The fae have hidden—out of sight and out of mind. It is a portal to their world, and they will do anything to hide it from humans.
By Coyote Gunnyon9 months ago in Fiction
The Cafe Window
The rain came down sideways hitting the thin glass. It sounded like little gun shots echoing on the inside of the café where I sat and sipped my coffee. Rain and coffee go together for some reason. Like biscuits and gravy, or peanut butter and jelly. At least that is my line of reasoning. People often struggle with how I think, but I feel the same way with them. That’s why I’m alone a lot, sitting in this dirty white washed cafe that looked like something yellow was leaking out of the ceiling. It was also a good place to sit and write poetry.
By Coyote Gunnyon10 months ago in Fiction
The Devil's Barn
It was out in the middle of a dead cornfield. It looked like a lone survivor of some terrible pestilence. The dead cornstalks all hung towards the old barn like sullen figures with their heads slung low in some kind of worship. At least, that is what Jeb mused when he looked outside.
By Coyote Gunnyon11 months ago in Fiction
I Hope
I think poetry is quintessential to the human experience. Poems help us to realize who we really are in times of desperation. They elevate us and take us back to the source. Back to the core of who we are and need to be; not what we WANT to be. The help us touch the infinite in our finite lives. So sincerely. . .
By Coyote Gunnyon11 months ago in Poets
The Valley I Grew Up In
There is a place called Wapato Washington that is located in central Washington on the Yakama Reservation. This is where I grew up. Where I was chastised, chased, and berated for many things. For being Native, for not being the right kind of Native, and for being a fat kid. It was the all-out-shits if you get what I mean.
By Coyote Gunnyon11 months ago in Wander
