Mag 172, When all are gone without

There is a certain click-
of sneakiness
The-Oh-so-slow
and careful turning of a latch
When you are young
and want to know!

What is on the bed,
or in the desk-
I loved to tiptoe
over creaky farm house floors,
(these were grey in uptairs halls)
and walk the certain edge of steps

to attic rooms
in breathless heat;
to kneel and peer beneath
the fringe of iron bedstead
then held my breath

as painted candy box
was lifted so as not to scrape
 carefully both thumbs
 pried up the lid
 to view treasures
 laid within bright walls of gold