Morocco

A flight to Casablanca and on to Fez.
A driver leaves my daughter and her
Companions outside a hotel at 3am.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, so little Arabic.

The promised plans do not materialize.
This is not only culture shock,
It becomes a fight for survival
Where to stay, where to get food.

I was frustrated having to take home ec
When I wanted to take shop instead
This was before Title IX, before Ms.,
or Sally Ride,  or Sandra Day O'Connor.

"I can't do this," she says.  "I'm coming home."
I panic.  She is strong-willed enough
To try to strike out on her own
In this rugged desert country.

She grew up mucking in ponds
Taking karate lessons, using tools.
She has never known fear,
Racial or gender discrimination.

So much has changed from
My mother's generation to mine
To hers, that has brought her
To this place in Morocco.

She was so excited we let her go.
We did not let her go.
We only held our fears still, and
Made sure she found food in Morocco.