Strawberry Fields

(written September 2025)

From the fragility of eggshells to these strawberry fields.

Here I rest my head in search of peace.

Still, my feet remain crimson red, while the

seeds of yesterday linger.

Behind enemy lines, silence does not always signal a ceasefire.

If there is a place beyond these fields where

I no  longer expect to hear gunshots of anger;

take me there, so I can be free.

Until then, I sleep to dream of raising my

head above the parapet without being met by

a hand across my mouth.

Why must I stifle these words inside me ?

Copyright © 2025 Maggie Watson
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