Elsa has spent her entire life working.
She is a woman who does not belong
to the aristocracy, nor any privileged
class of writers, intellectuals, nor lawyers.
She has always been a merchant.
Her home was right on the street named Magdalena River.
It had very simple furnishings
that had been purchased in El Paso, Texas,
across one of the three border bridges separating Juarez,
(“Sun City,” where they say the sun shines better),
forgetting that where hits and good beats, is in Juarez,
forty percent of streets are sand,
desert in a landscape of maquiladoras (assembly plants),
foreign capital to create wealth to the first world and salaries to the third,
about $50 a fortnight for a Mexican worker.