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63 Feasting The child’s tree people walked to work, school, morning tennis lessons in stylish burrs, silky leaves. Birch bodies, birch lives. everyone looking happy despite. shouting. Hitting. some touching where they shouldn’t whispering I’ll kill if you tell. Twig-Town. A few sticks felt they couldn’t go on. Felt no one in the whole grassy world understood. Thought about jumping off a high branch, overdosing on sap. One twig stayed in all day and cooked. At evening, the scent of her stew and bread drove everyone wild with longing. nuts and pods stopped their business call or yoga class to return home, hoping her earthly delights might be theirs. Most had meager stone suppers. Yet in dark dirt everyone dreamed of feasting. Mornings she found them asleep, hard to rouse, not wanting to face the day. ...

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