Invocation by Helene Johnson Let me be buried in the rain In a deep, dripping wood, Under the warm wet breast of Earth Where once a gnarled tree stood. And paint a picture on my tomb With dirt and a piece of bough Of a girl and a boy beneath a round, ripe moon Eating of love with an eager spoon And vowing an eager vow. And do not keep my plot mowed smooth And clean as a spinster’s bed, But let the weed, the flower, the tree, Riotous, rampant, wild, and free, Grow high among my head. I grew...