Meditation: Cheryl Clarke Lost Her Phone in a Lyft

Breathe In.  Cheryl Clarke lost her phone after dinner. That is this story’s

smoking gun. She and Breena are coming from Jersey City to meet me at The Edge

Happy Hour.   Don’t miss Edge Happy Hour at 101 Edgecombe.

Wine is $4 and drinkable enough.  Also mojitos. But that’s

another poem. Breathe In.  I walk through Harlem because of the day.

Several people tell me there is no Edgecombe Avenue.  One woman insists

that the restaurant is an incorrect vision of mine.  Go to church she says.  I do not.

Breathe Out.  What a beautiful day.  We are  all in a bar restaurant

that is pretty perfect. Men wear good straw hats.

One woman is dressed in silver.  Our waitress, from Eritrea, gives us

a  lesson about the Ge’ez language and then brings drinks. Breathe In.  They don’t

have martinis though.  Only half a liquor license.  Breathe out.  Martinis

next time. Maybe at The Grange.  Breathe In.  Breena tells us a new word too.  Anamnesis.

She will give me a ride home.  Breathe Out.I get out on my corner.

Breathe In.  Cheryl takes a Lyft from Breena’s House to

her hotel and leaves her phone in the car.  Breathe Out.  Lyft finds the phone.

They’ll bring it to Cheryl today.

Esther Cohen
Let me tell you why I'm here, and why I hope you'll join me. I am here to poem, to play with words, to tell stories when I can, and to ask you for yours. Words are what I love, how I see, and what I say. Words are how I know my life, and how I find my friends. I'm here to ask you to join me. Right here. To send me your stories, and your poems. And to read mine when you can.

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