Ashley House is my father’s family home.
My Grandparents still live there.

Ashley House was always about one thing. A polite annual summer visit.

My father was brought up behind those windows. When not forgotten at boarding school.
I remember this as I dissect your interior.

I witness three generations.
Through silent conversations and closed doors. I indulge in sloppy home cooked meals before sleeping self-conscious
My father lived by your rules long before he created mine.

I discover his life under chairs and on dinner tables. Through objects of a sunken memory. My father’s exhausted belongings drowning.
Lonely journals and fragile toy planes accept the worst fate.

Proud conservatives, you don’t appreciate change.
A Granddaughter with a voyeuristic hobby will not do.

I am your uninvited guest. A stranger infecting your daily routine.
I would say that I’m sorry. I am not.
Remember. It was you who was never there.

When I recognize my face amongst the others I realize a connection will forever be with Ashley House.
But, I can deal with that.

You needn’t worry anymore.
Your son has a daughter now.