Begging the Question & Attachments, poems by Jane Williams

who worries over this woman
fingering you are my sunshine
on the piano accordion
squat as an invalid’s breakfast tray
above her outsized lap
track suited against the swank
of the commonwealth bank
when she reaches the end
please don’t take
my sunshine away
she knows to start over
hour after hour
this music by numbers
this empty chocolate box
open for business
its heart shaped lid
inviting payment for services
and begging the question

periodically I lose what I become too precious about

that indian scarf I wore for definition disappeared
from my pale neck on a mountain walk
I didn't know it was gone until I'd descended
sheltered from blurred edges and a cryptic sun

a ring I couldn't take my eyes off
silver emblazoned with a golden spiral
every converstaion every ulterior move
lead with that hand dizzying me into blind spots
I would never wholly return from

frequently I lose my sense of direction
and have to play tourist to find my way home

I have lost the moment the hour the day
and once in another tongue the will to live

I lost you of course but that was written

after dreaming I lose my place in the waking world
everywhere I look strangers in a strange land

I am always startled to find someone knows my name