you were a home
when I did not
have one
I haunted you
for a while,
clinging,
like moss,
perhaps,
or rot
you said
you didn’t believe
in ghosts
I lost you
in the trees
behind your home
it was autumn,
and you let me
wear your coat
I have been haunting
those woods
ever since
Kaytie Rose Thomas is an artist, poet, and expert sushi-eater from Southern California. After her recent return from the lovely grey city of Aberdeen, Scotland, she writes comics and dreams of her future dog. You can find her work in Whale Road Review, Rust+Moth, and The Interpreter’s House.