Phasmida the Stick Insect Woman She selects my leafy café where the camouflage is good, it suits a bone-thin woman whose limbs are stiff as wood. Sitting apart, alone, she devours a lettuce lunch ignoring those nearby beneath another branch. When finishing her coffee she licks the last few dregs then, using lanky arms, assembles whittled legs. I watch her step away unsmiling and stoic, leaning on those legs like worn out walking sticks. Suzanne Edgar
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