Thousand Pieces of Puzzle Present

We don’t so much as beg, “Mom can I?” no, just stand idle, lean on one leg, pick up and set down pieces with the care of an egg the quietest until we know it fits into the slowly growing frame, and sneak , click it in, every once in a while or we seek out edges, set them in a pile sort by color and sort by texture until “would you please bring me?” from a parent sends us off after we bring mugs of Tom & Jerry’s with a dash of nutmeg, or plates of cookies back the fastest we find a reason to sit, no one says anything this is our one large family present, one thousand pieces spread across our table we are entitled such are our wiles unnoticed we fit in to the family picture, puzzle hour after hour until the day or hour or errand came and we steal away and see who could hold out longest hiding the piece that fits into the thousand pieces last or is forever lost