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Leah Naomi Green

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Leah Naomi Green

Leah Naomi Green grew up in Greensboro, North Carolina, and received an MFA from the University of California–Irvine. She is the author of the chapbook The Ones We Have (Flying Trout Press, 2012). She teaches at Washington and Lee University and lives in Rockbridge County, Virginia.

by this poet


The buck is thawing a halo on the frosted ground,
shot in our field predawn.

Last night we pulled a float in the Christmas parade.
It was lit by a thousand tiny lights.

My daughter rode in my lap and was thrilled
when the float followed us. Ours is a small town.

Everyone was there.

“God is an infinite sphere, the center of which is everywhere, the circumference nowhere.”


The peony, which was not open this morning, has opened,
falling over its edges 

like the circumference of God, still clasped 
at the
The fire beetle only mates
when the chaparral is burning,

and the water beetle
will only mate in the rain.

In the monastery’s kitchen, the nuns
don’t believe me when I tell them how old I am,
that you were married before.

The woman you find attractive
does not believe me when I look at her kindly. 

There are