Gil Hoy is a widely published Boston poet and writer who studied poetry and writing at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a B.A . in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. His work has recently appeared in The Galway Review, Best Poetry Online, Muddy River Poetry Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Rusty Truck, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The Penmen Review, Misfit Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, Chiron Review, The New Verse News and elsewhere. Hoy was nominated for a Best of the Net award last year.
I came across my grandfather’s
business card in a black old box
of family photos in our attic.
The once durable 16pt card stock
was badly creased, its letters
worn and faded. The man was a hero
in my mother’s eyes. He died from smoke
and too much whiskey when I was
a little boy so I never got to see
just how great he really was
or really wasn’t. He’s sometimes
in my dreams. I’m standing over
his grave weeping. I don’t know
where the dead go or if it’s best
to forget them. I dream many nights
of a crooked house I must wander
through, filled with rooms
of people I seldom know.