That morning the sun didn't come up.
But Mrs Juana never found out.
Early in the morning she went to work.
Doing brush-strokes, doing case-hardening.
Machines, dust, metal noises.
Mechanics, crickets, screeching ritual.
Then at the exit, Juana in the crowd,
among the stampede, she ran to the door.
In the cold night over the concrete,
Juana was hiding in her jacket.
When she got home, her son was shivering.
"Son, what happens to you? Tell me please."
"Mom, I'm cold, the sun didn't come up."
"Come on son, if you are my sun."
Without understanding, Juana kissed him.
And later tired, she went to sleep.
That morning the sun didn't come up.
But Mrs Juana never found out.