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.