top of page
  • Writer's pictureLippy

Spring's Cruel Sister

From days that look like dishwater

Spring extends her little green arms

Coddles us in bright midday skies

And everything seems like it will be okay

Spring’s soil bears silken delusion

A single yellow bud

And we lean gladly into her

Because maybe tomorrow will be the day she turns into Summer

Ceremonially, we shed our layers

It’s her sunlight that makes us brave

Heavy coats sleep on their hangers and we walk home without gloves

Baring sad pale skin, Winter’s hideous gift

And Winter watches, disliking us

Spring’s cruel sister, Spring’s cruel shadow

She smiles her sour old spectacled smile

And prepares to mock our bare-armed optimism

Because Winter has never been afraid of Spring,

Her rain will sodden Spring’s hoodless head

Her wind will still swallow umbrellas, run her terrible fingers through hair, steal balloons from children

Spring has one of those kind faces: too easy to touch, to smear

Yet we straggle on in candied Springtime stupor

(It is the season for straggling on)

For whilst we know some days her bad twin will seethe and pick and mutter

She waits for us, patient and sweet

In blackberries, in pollen, in foresight and in sighs

Under trees where all is still

Spring is there, she squeezes our hand

And everything will be okay


Words by Alice Graham

Artwork by Rachel Cartledge (@rachelcartledgedesign)


Recent Posts

See All

stoned sex

They smoked heartily. Each inhale turned gloriously (and almost imperceptibly) into an exhale. Each and every muscle fibre let go. Each little facial muscle becomes utterly useless apart from (of cour


bottom of page