the view

i keep asking different family members
if they are going to sell the house.
the aunts' place is the closest thing i have
to a grandparent's home. the magnolia outside 
knows my hands from afternoons 
spent climbing as high as i could. 
in the yard, the weeds i used to help my dad
cut back year after year are back & devouring
the fence. in the living room i keep thinking
the television in on. i stayed there one summer
& every day when i got home from work
they would be watching 'the view.'
i never watched with them. they enjoyed
the most boring tv i can imagine. if it wasn't
the view it was a baseball game or even
baseball game re-runs. the pace in that house
was always slower. as a kid i craved it.
took any chance i could get to visit them,
tailing along with my uncle on summer weekends. 
played the half-dead electric organ
in the living room. turned on an old radio in the attic. 
i keep asking if they are going to sell the house
because i know they are. i don't know
what i am looking for in their responses.
maybe a comforting, "it has to be done"
or a resilient, "we can find a way to keep it."
i am helping my dad empty the place. 
one of the chairs from their kitchen table
now in my living room, orphaned 
from the set. before i left the house, i tried
to turn the tv on. i couldn't figure it out.
the buttons, worn-off or jammed in. 
wished i was there one more time eating dinner
while the tv talked around us. while the aunts,
each in their respective recliners, snacked
on pretzels. drank pepsi & ginger ale. 
i don't manage to get the tv to turn on. 
i ask my dad last, "are you going to sell the house?"
he says, "we have to." goes into the details.
how uncle john owns a slice & then him
& then his brother. i don't respond. i just keep working.
imagine the house in sections. if we could
keep nothing else, maybe just the rec room.