Full

 

In memory of you, the great Jack Lane—

though I called you Brother Mark

through those few

important,

life-full years.

When you asked me

(the football player)

to arrange a vase of flowers,

of course, I did—

no, I tried and failed miserably,

but you thanked me for trying.

When you paused our English-class class

for a few days in order to teach etiquette

we—the supposedly smart cohort—smiled,

shook our heads;

and we learned.

You showed us to be never so full of ourselves

that we could not be full for others.

We love that man,

you, Jack Lane, Brother Mark.

As we have, so I will

cherish and nourish-from your memory

all these

important,

life-full years.

                                   

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Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2024 :: Full 2404

 

                                                  

.Birth

I have always said

(and I think this is true)

if I had an older brother

he would have no younger brother.

Birth

Bob Komives

So it was

on May 4, 1943

as two of my sisters waited in my home-to-be,

(on Van Buren, six blocks away)

and two in my school-to-be

(Saint Columba, seven blocks away)

I arrived

at the Northern Pacific Benefit Association Hospital

on Charles Avenue,

Saint Paul,

Minnesota.

The hospital I would visit again, again and again

with broken fingers,

evil appendix,

Osgood Slaughter,

gashed wrist,

and the like.

It is the place to which I ran

after I saw a terrible lightning bolt strike,

heard its boom.

The hospital chimney!

I ran at my top speed to see this brick giant.

Yes, a jagged, open rip from top to bottom.

It is hard to believe my memory,

but I see myself there standing alone,

as if I were first on scene,

mouth open to this destructive miracle by nature.

It is hard to believe my memory,

but I also remember standing nearby,

a few years earlier,

propped by my dad's hand on the hood of his car.

My mother was in the hospital,

a patient

waving to me from a second-floor window.

She had to see her son on his first birthday.

It always seemed normal

(and I know this is untrue)

that my father’s railroad should put our hospital

where I could run to it,

walk to it,

whenever I needed it.

Once I went with a policeman in his car.

But that must be another story

so that this story can conclude:

I was born.

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2013 :: Birth:: 1306

Fairgrounds

Fairgrounds

Bob Komives

 
Let's go: 
—Please, Mother, take me to see those people set up the State Fair;
move horses, plant flowers, raise tents.—

She responds as kindly as she can:
(tables full of vegetables, jars, and lids; canner-cooker steaming on the stove)
“ Dear son, I can’t take you to the fairgrounds. I have all this work in the kitchen. I'll take you with your sisters—next week when the fair opens. Please play here close to home. “

Out to the yard:
Impatient, I return and plead; go out, return, and plead again.

A Compromise:
“ No, Son, but I'll pack you two fine picnics. You and Buddy can walk two blocks to the park. “

Through Buddy's yard to Minnehaha:
Across Pascal Street and Albert Street to bible-school park.

We play:
Imagining forts and caves where others see only giant clusters of lilac bushes.

Let's go:
—I know the way. Minnehaha, right on Snelling, over the railroad, past the gravel pit. I went by the fairgrounds with my Dad when we went fishing. He told me all he saw there when he was a kid.—

The big gate is wide open:
Sheep! horses! cows! rabbits! chickens! Dancing, practicing tractors! Smells of manure and wood shavings! Busy men with leather faces!

Let's go home:
—There's a gate.—

Not the same one ...
—Excuse me, mister, which way to Snelling?—

A stop at the gravel pit to play army, throw rocks:
—It's getting dark. I'm hungry. Let's climb out and run home before … Up there, isn't that your mother? Dad's car? Mom! Running this way!—

She calls me her naughty five-year-old:
She says she should spank me
but cries and gives me a hug.
I want to say I'm sorry
but can only tell her about all the fun.
“ Let's go home now to supper! “

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2016 :: Fairgrounds :: 1602

Lump At The Back Of My Head

There is a lump,

back of my head,

top of my neck.

When I touch it

I hear again the thud,

feel again the thud,

and think again of the gravel pit.

Lump At The Back of My Head

Bob Komives 

You may know the place.

Years later they built a stadium there.

Later they tore that down

to build the business park.

We played war over gravel mountains,

threw rocks at communists only we could see.

In terrible battle we fell to mortal wounds

and (to keep the war from ending)

resurrected ourselves

under new names

and new battle flags

to launch attack

or put up desperate defense.

That day,

when dusking sky and busying avenue

signaled: dinner on the stove back home,

I ran (victorious)

to the top of my gravel mountain.

I yelled, Battles over, let's go!

Then the thud.

I staggered,

reached back to the point of pain,

felt the damp,

looked at my fingers,

saw blood.

I turned,

stared down my mountain to Buddy,

my friend and fellow warrior.

I saw in his eyes

that my pain was no accident

unless you pardon a lousy thrower

for thinking he would miss

when he threw a traitor's rock.

Hurt and bloodied,

forgiveness foregone,

I chased Buddy a mile

and shouted a threat through the screen door

as it slammed between me and his mother's safety.

Crossing the alley,

past my screen door,

I said not a word to my own mother.

Later that night,

under dry blood, 

I found a soft lump.

A week later

I could feel the hardened lump.

Now, decades later,

I reach to the back of my head,

hear again the thud,

feel again the thud,

think again of the gravel pit,

either to laugh again at good fun

or to fear again betrayal.

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2001 :: Lump At The Back Of My Head :: 0110

Come To Visit When You Can

They called me 'PAYT-air' when I was born in Joliet,

"Peter" when I started school in Saint Paul.

Call me Pete.

I have come to rest.

Rest assured I will brag about you. 
 

Come To Visit When You Can 


Bob Komives 

I was a big kid—

a good student after I learned English.

I had a memory like a trap.

I was a tough kid.

I took nothing from nobody—

not even from my teachers

if I thought they were unfair.

I did not try to treat you all the same.

I did try to treat you fairly.

I was an honest kid.

They could trust me to a penny.

We had about sixteen dollars

when we got married.

Leona raised you kids.

She was a wonderful mother.

I thought I would die first.

Thank you for coming here,

my family,

my friends,

their friends.

Death,

wakes,

funerals,

cemeteries,

they were important in my life.

I was a loyal kid.

I tended flowers

on the graves of brother and sisters.

I earned money taking care of other graves.

Decoration Day was important to me

until they said we could no longer tend the graves.

I guess this is my heritage.

I hear that a relative,

who does not know how she is related,

tends beautifully

my grandmother's grave in Hungary.

Thank you for coming today,

my family,

my friends,

their friends.

I bragged about each of you

to the others

at one time

and another.

In case you didn't hear it from me,

now is the time to tell each other.

Today, I want you to say

when you shake hands:

"Pete bragged about you."

"Pete bragged about you."

I was strong as a bull.

I was a railway carman,

a center,

a linebacker.

Man, I was lucky!

I never thought life would go so well.

I had a good life.

I built boxcars.

I fixed them,

inspected them.

I liked my job.

I was never afraid to get dirty.

(But, I still clean up pretty good.)

I knew my job.

Nobody knew it better.

I could have been a foreman,

but I didn't want to drag my family

from town to town,

up and down

the Northern Pacific Railway.

I started at the Como Shops.

I was fifteen.

I passed for eighteen.

I was a big kid,

a strong kid.

They wanted me

to go to Del La Salle high school to play football.

It would cost four tokens on the streetcar each day.

I asked my dad.

He said I should get a job.

I never turned down a chance to earn a nickel.

The Depression,

it was tough for everyone.

I helped build Monkey Island at Como Zoo on the W.P.A.

I don't like social workers.

She wouldn't give me money

to buy a white shirt

so I could tend bar.

She gave me money for coal.

I bought the shirt.

Leona and I collected our coal

along the railroad tracks.

The Swede fired the other bartender.

He gave me a raise for the extra money

he found in the till when I worked.

I underbid a man and a mule

to dig a house foundation by hand.

I didn't know much,

but I was never afraid to ask advice—

from the Irishman,

the Swede,

the Jew

the Polack.

The Kraut taught me to read a newspaper.

(If you want to know, I'll tell you.)

Each of you taught me something.

I passed it on.

You asked my advice.

I gave it—much more than you wanted.

But, take it or leave it.

I don't want to tell you how to live your life.

I had a good life.

I was lucky.

I made some good decisions.

(No stockbroker ever tried twice

to give me advice I hadn't asked for.)

We moved to the lake.

Man, Leona was happy.

I was a tough man to live with.

I made mistakes.

I expected to die first.

After forty years together

she gave me a big hug and said,

"Pete, I guess I want to live with you."

I suppose that says something.

I got my high-school equivalency at age sixty.

I liked my work,

but I retired early.

Everything just fell into place.

Those were good years.

Except the lake kept rising.

With a wheelbarrow we moved

truckloads of fill.

We were both strong.

I was strong.

I loved my flowers.

I loved my vegetables.

I can tell you how

to get a long harvest from your broccoli.

There is a right way to do most things.

If it's worth doing

it's worth doing right!

I always said, "I'm as good as the best

and better than the rest,"

but I never said I was perfect.

I made mistakes.

I told you so.

So, don't do as I did;

do as I said.

We sent you kids to Catholic school,

but it was you kids who got Leona and me

to go to church every Sunday.

I hope I thanked you for that.

I had no problem making up my own mind

as to what is right and what is wrong.

I hope you can thank me for that.

I was a tough old man,

but I often said, thank you.

Remember that.

You never did get me to stop swearing,

or to change my grammar.

You can't take off all the rough edges.

I led a rough life when I was a young man.

I hung around with some bad characters.

Sitting on a boxcar,

I told the Polack I was tired of it.

I wanted to settle down.

I met Leona.

She was ready too.

I thought I would die first.

We had a good life,

but my last seven years were tough.

The last three years have been tough—

tough on me,

tough on you.

I had had a memory like a trap.

I was a strong man.

I vacuumed the floor,

made breakfast and lunch

while Leona fished.

I read my newspapers,

my magazines.

I liked to study before I made a decision.

It worked for us.

We paid our way—

even today.

I never wanted to be dependent.

But, you could depend on me,

and I could depend on you.

That's what family and friends are for.

I bragged to each of you about the other.

Remember me and tell each other.

Plant a flower in my name.

Come to visit when you can.

Call me Pete.

I have come to rest.

Rest assured I will brag about you.

Fort Collins © 1995  :: Come To Visit When You can  ::  ,9501