Four Grandfathers

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
‘Hood Knitting’.

Grandad’s business had followed
his father’s
‘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

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

More Shayari in English Poetry
27 Jun 2008 No Comment

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