You managed to get all the mothers you asked for

& called them a different name instead—auntie.

Like Auntie A who dressed you up in a witch’s

costume that first Halloween & took you out

when your sisters didn’t want you around.

You had her all to yourself that night, riding

the bus for hours. The city yours, its alleyways

& veiny side streets unfolding at your touch. Yes,

America has failed every immigrant to enter

its harbor. The dream they came for breaks like family.

But here is the dream no one expected: her hand

to hold, the streetlights guiding your path.

This night, packed with its costumes & pretenders

& you, at the center, finding something real.