Our heartbroke heroine was craving beer for the first time in years.
Hardly haughty, she looked out at the splendid mountains surrounding her
Relocated to a sunken valley of the dolls 3000 miles from home
She wondered yet again for the umpteenth time
“Why am I here?” and took a swig from the amber bottle.
It was recyclable. Like so many things out west.
Just waiting to be reinvented. Replaced.
The hearty hops danced across her palette as playfully as the words that had become her heart’s haven.
Teasing her. The lengthy lexicon tempted her. Inspired her.
Our bemused muse amused herself
realizing she was at the starting line again.
Twenty years prior she stood on a marble podium hand extended.
The University President was stoic in cap and gown.
Our impish graduate reached for the rolled parchment and the ceremonial shake.
Passing the true BMOC an icy cold and very unexpected brewski.
Their eyes met and time froze. As must have his hand.
He looked down and smiled smirkily.
Cracked it open and raised it to the crowd of some hundreds before taking a hearty gulp.
At that moment, our graduating wordsmith stood proudly alone.
The moment needed no words.
The beer tingled tangy across her tongue with the memory .
You may have no map, but you still have moxie, she told herself.
She took another swig and stared out the window.