Poetry: Joan Leotta

Joan Leotta

Sharing a Bit of Shade in Aswan

It really is cooler in the shade

when there is no humidity.

I’d been sick in the morning

so my daughter took our tour

bus without me. I left the hotel

to wait for her at the pick-up point.

In the area’s one patch of shade

a group of long-robed solemn women 

waited. I leaned against a 

remaining bit of wall, in sun,

smiled at the woman nearest to me.

She turned to her friends,

her hijab and robes a slow

twirl of purple loveliness.

I heard her speak, then

she swirled back, smiled at me.

As one, the women all moved a 

half-step to the left,

opening a small square

of shade for me on the right.

Shokran,  I called out.

We waited together 

in now companionable silence

until their bus arrived.

Each woman turned, smiled,

waved farewell to me 

when they boarded 

their ride home.

My daughter later marveled

at how my smile with a single

word of Arabic had

woven a momentary friendship

in the shade, in the small

Egyptian town of Aswan.

***

The Last Shopping Excursion of Our Trip

Heat defined that last

afternoon, so my daughter

I left our group to seek

a cool drink 

at a nearby café.

A Japanese man

in our group asked

if he could sit with us.

He told me he’d not 

bought anything in the market,

that vendors doubled, even the

listed prices when they 

saw him. “They think 

all Japanese are rich. They 

don’t realize I’m Japanese-American,”

he lamented. 

My daughter offered

to shop for him in the 

store nearest to our café.

He gave her some money

and the assignment to buy

some trinkets for his office 

mates. She returned with a 

dozen Egyptian motif

pens, the entire dozen having

cost only what they wanted 

him to pay for one.

He was overwhelmed and overjoyed.

He said, this last day of the trip

was the best one, 

thanks to my daughter’s

willingness to shop for him.

Who knew shopping 

for souvenirs could be a kindness?

***

Sospesi (Suspended, plural form) 

At our bed and breakfast,

we were given coupons

for a coffee and breakfast

at a nearby café.

We only used two of

the three since 

one morning we’d

arranged to leave

for a daytrip before

the cafe opened.

We left the two

unused coupons 

with the café owner

as sospesi

advance payments 

for someone who might

not be able to afford

roll and coffee but 

needed one.

Would that person be 

homeless or a student 

or another tourist,

simply out of cash?

No choosing on our part.

The ticket will hangs 

by the register until

one in needs plucks it up,

with no loss of dignity.

After all, aren’t we all sospesi,

suspended on earth together,

our lives lived on a 

thin line separating those

who need gifts and the givers?

***

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Setu, June 2025