She’d gone into his room
to put away newly folded laundry.
Bending down to open a drawer
she heard a faint rustling,
then watched as the valance quivered
but felt no draft.
He was lying on his belly
his curly head scraping the underside of the bed.
Right in front of his nose
the gilded box she’d placed high up in the pantry
beyond the reach of little fingers;
the lid off and half empty,
papers strewn all around it.
Now he stood facing her;
small hands outstretched, palms open,
kicking at the carpet
with petulant feet.
streaked across one cheek,
and from the corner of his mouth
a watery trickle
of chocolate drool.