Nicole Fratrich, C’21
I.
The roots of your mystery remain
And my imagination can race out
Underneath a dim, autumn sky.
II.
But I believe I know deep within
Those demons that chased you to the brink.
Why did our chaotic paths rarely converge?
Now I’m left to grasp vague memories
That through the fog Feel very false.
III.
I close my eyes to reminisce
And I envision the Gettysburg buffet
Where we amused ourselves with the name you shared with the General.
Before class you announce you were named after a literary hero.
Still in disbelief, I claim you were born before the film version.
You were a silent cameraman in the midst of a rowdy and nonreplicable Crucible interpretation.
But this memory may be an invention.
I attend a well-known musical,
Only to find your face merged with a teenage actor’s.
IV.
Sorrow will not melt into relief.
I desperately need to rest my eyes
Upon your easy countenance
And reassuring grin.
Life must flourish despite this type of tragedy.
But to what avail?
But prove to me the outdated doctrine is a lie.
I must meet you in paradise.
Generation 