The Girl in the Strawberry Field

On a hot, sticky day to work I went. Picking strawberries with my new white dress. I was getting hungry so I decided to eat some strawberries. Yum! They’re sweet and juicy. Oh no, I squirted some on my dress.

I am getting sunburned. The money I will make will have to go to suntan lotion. My children are probably screaming for me. Only three more hours left. “This job is too tiring,” I said as I fell to my knees.

Church tomorrow… what will I wear? My dress is stained and torn My boots are not white but brown. My knees are shaking and I am sunburned and I am hot and sweaty.

Two more hours left. I have picked more than fifty rows of strawberries, eating half of them. Why did I do that? I will not have enough for suntan lotion, a white dress, boots and food for my family.

One more hour left. Slowly, I pick two more rows worth of strawberries. Yes! I am done! But I will only make $1.05. Oh well, at least I have a job, a family, boots and a stained, torn dress.

Written at 8 years old, 1992

This poem, written in second grade for a school project, feels profoundly moving to rediscover as an adult—not just for its surprising narrative depth, but for the emotional landscape it captures with such unfiltered honesty. The creativity, mingled with an almost eerie sense of burden, guilt, and survival that goes far beyond what you’d expect from an 8-year-old. The speaker’s voice is both innocent and wise, laced with humor and heartbreak, resilience and resignation. Somehow, in just a few stanzas, this poem touches on labor, self-worth, sacrifice, and gratitude—unpolished and pure. Reading it now, it feels like a time capsule of subconscious awareness and emotional complexity I hadn’t even realized I held back then. It might just be some of my best work—and I’m proud of that.