Repair

Repair

Robin Becker

More stall than store, his cramped（难懂的） space on Carmine 

 smelled of Cat's Paw leather cream polish. 

 A belt, a boot, our shoes for soles: he restored 

 them, mended your silver heron（苍鹭） lamp 

 from Norway, replaced your cracked crystal. 

 He charged so little I wondered how 

he paid the rent, a Chekhov character 

 transposed to the West Village, resolving 

 toggle switches, latches（插销）, sundered bolts, 

 talking to himself in Russian -- jeweler's 

 loupe fixed to his face. 

After the towers fell, the shoe and watch 

 man moved; what we couldn't repair 

 between us stayed broken. 

Seasonal vendors hawked fir and spruce（打扮整齐） wreaths. 

 A mercantile buzz dizzied 

 Carmine, where windows of valentines surfaced 

 and disappeared. In restauro read the sign, 

 that spring, on the Church of the Sacred Conversation. 

I missed our magician of the material, 

 tried to bring you renovated things 

 from the Used CD Emporium 

 and Bookstore, bazaar（集市） of second and third chances, 

 our New York beyond repair.