Bike Repair

I'm piecing together an old bike
sorting through parts in a bag
drawing out dried up leaves, scraps of old plastic and,
sometimes,
the part I need.
My hands are smudged black
the smell of it all,
the cold metal, the damp air, the used grease,
fogs up the moment
I look down at my hands 
and see my father's cracked skin
and knobby knuckles
cherry red new grease
I turn the wrench around and around
attaching myself to my own life
disentangling debris from the gears
scrubbing at the steel with a wire brush.
The sky has been howling these days
kicking up old things, blaring them across neighborhoods,
dragging them through the scenery
knocking on my windows at night
I refill the bird feeder when it gets low
imagining those tiny bodies battered by the storm,
arriving to the small place of rest underneath the cover.
With our last bike project, I learned a lot of new things,
and a lot of new tools
the most fascinating was the chainbreaker
a thing held to be infinite
released with the right strategy of force
slowly, dutifully, boringly
turned around and around
a small click maybe, not much else
and the heavy loop falls.
I blocked my mother's number last month
no wonder the weather took a turn for the brutal
enough, eventually, has to be enough
the dam can't hold forever
I track down the missing parts of the bike
I wrap the handlebars with new tape
I pedal hard to keep myself warm.