Juania Sueños


Juania Sueños is a Chicanx cursi. She holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Texas State, and other boring credentials given to her by institutions. She is bad at writing bios but good at finding strange objects on sidewalks and cuddling her Chihuahua, Chanchis. She is a cofounder and editor of the Infrarrealista Review, and current Fellow for the Center of the Study of the Southwest. She translates fiction and poetry. She is working on a novel in verse based on her life as a migratory-bird.


Dear a,
I want to fall in love with you
those dead names murdered
what is proclaimed yours
I’ll replace with (your name),
whisper it in phone calls to aunts
like an ancient curse 

sí, quizás tendremos hijos
güeritos algún día, tía.
we’re addicted 

I hide the walls with mirrors
so I can see a parched god enter me—
close-eyed, I beg him for blows
that pang in my native lengua,
the dirtier one.
I’ve always been good at proving
I can become what they say


reusing the tired old tropes
Lucy, the flawed sister,
burnt and yearning, victim
of undeniable superiority
i—little i, have learned

a Godly sibling is hardly surprising
to hate. Every morning
when i watch the news i kneel,
cry, sing supplications to him, 

my dear a, I can’t even say your name
but here is another incantation,
sweet baby, hold my head on your
chest after you come, light
candles for the shrine, i’ve made
for you as you lay wide-eyed,
watching white women fuck
on a cracked phone, hear me translate
Audre Lorde to my mother
“In the recognition of loving lies
an answer to desperation;”
she too loves white men
and when they vote democrat
or threaten to call I.C.E. 

and i'm well aware of why we love


sanded boiling deserts, bailes
and them

they remember when we forget
to fill up our cups
with bronze batches of pain
and we wear them proudly

Dear a,
neither of us can say the words
we really want to say
         a split
                           a celebration

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