My grandfather
Dad-‘s dad
died before my time
and I never knew him
They never did talk much about him
and now they are all gone too
there-‘s only small snatches
of things said in passing
that stay with me
That he was exactly like my brother Rob
but 6 feet tall,
That my father-‘s memories were of a sick man
trying to make a business go,
during the depression
All that I ever saw of this was the remnants of
that business
only a few knitting machines
run by my aunt
in the building where my father was raised
since burned down
a sign painted on the front of the brick building
-Ë—Hood Knitting-‘.
Grandad-‘s business had followed
his father-‘s
-Ë—the old folks-‘
who-‘d come from England
The midlands I think
and had a store
at 514 Yonge street TO.
There-‘s a picture somewhere
of him,
Ebineezer Hood
and some women
standing in front of the store
the lettering on the awning
-‘E Hood Knitted Goods-
I wonder what they were like,
this father, this son
twice removed from me
in generational terms
Too late now to find out
my father, grandfather, great grandfather
gone
Perhaps I-‘m lucky
My grandsons, and their sons will be able to read my poetry
to know their grandfather and great grandfather
in a way that does not come to me.
Vic Hood