NYU Black Renaissance Noire Spring 2015 - Page 29

Georgia on My Mind for the children of Atlanta, 1979 — 1982 Children become ancestors in the Georgia night. Remember us. Mamas and daddies up all hours pacing searching for their murdered angels with mutilated wings. Kiss our mothers for us. Some were never found, soft bones swept under moss trees. The missing and ache sweat across the foreheads of fathers reckoning nightmares. Mothers scream in their pillows, not wanting to close their eyes to see the dead faces of their children. Tell our fathers we love them. We still search for them, still believe they will come back to us smelling of burnt peaches and baby’s breath, fresh and dewy-eyed, unharmed and happy, we still pray they will come to us in the night. Remember us. 27 BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE And we do, lost children of Atlanta. We remember the sounds of you vanishing, the sounds of your fathers’ hearts on fire, and your mothers’ wombs bursting. BRN-SPRING-2015.indb 27 3/29/15 11:41 AM