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    [ID] => 21669
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2021-06-18 09:03:38
    [post_date_gmt] => 2021-06-18 09:03:38
    [post_content] => The forsythia, like all stars, is dying
its impermanent death. Gold, bronze,
gone. I yank my old hair from the brush,
leave it in parcels on the doorstep
for the birds – magpie, robin, song thrush.
The pheasants make their road accident sounds,
twisted metal out their mouths. I am still
and heavy so long the mud welcomes me home,
my feet enter the squelch as though fleshless.
Mosquitos throb me bejeweled, jet and ruby,
standing on the bank. The stream is a wild girl
at a music festival, scabbed with body glitter.
She knows all the words to all the songs,
I am trying to learn.                   I am so still
mice forget me or mistake me for a birch.
They have hands like I have hands.
They might be water rats. I might be
water rats. I’m feeling plural like that,
the sun sucking my elbows, sunning me wide.
I fumble across a field. My body is a field.
I breathe deep enough to turn myself inside out.
At the edge, the forest sways its seductive, tipsy sway.
I show her my colony of mosses, my amulets
of nettle-rash stuck close to my bones like blood-
wet grass as we trade ghazals of mulch and birdsong.
The cut-out dolls of green light between branches dance,
take my hands, my eyes. I return home, bitten.


    [post_title] => On Becoming a Changeling
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    [post_name] => on-becoming-a-changeling
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    [post_modified] => 2021-06-21 14:53:46
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            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2021
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is commended in the Young Poets Network 10th anniversary challenge in 2021. This challenge offered the opportunity to respond to any previous challenge or feature published in the first ten years of Young Poets Network. Ellora Sutton responded to Ways to be Wilder: A Challenge with People Need Nature and Jen Hadfield.
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            [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended, YPN 10 challenge
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
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    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
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            [ID] => 18987
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Ellora Sutton
            [slug] => ellora-sutton
            [content] => Ellora Sutton is an MA student from Hampshire. She has won the Mslexia Poetry Competition, the Artlyst Art to Poetry Award, and the Pre-Raphaelite Society Poetry Competition. She tweets @ellora_sutton.

Ellora is the first-prize winner of the Carol Ann Duffy challenge on Young Poets Network, judged by Mari Hughes-Edwards, and celebrating Duffy's legacy as Poet Laureate. She is also the first-prize winner of Bailey Blackburn's 2018 August challenge #2 on found poems and the third Bloodaxe Archive challenge, The Re-Re-Re-Drafting Challenge. Ellora is also the second-prize winner in August challenge #4 on the poetics of interrogation, written and judged by Foyle Young Poet Kara Jackson in 2019. She is the third-prize winner of the Ode to (Small) Joy challenge and August Challenge #2: Fairy Tale Poetry.

Ellora is commended in Young Poets Network's 10th anniversary challenge; the Keats challenge, part of The Poetry Society's celebrations of Keats's bicentenary in 2021; in the first, second and fourth Bloodaxe Archive challenges, The Poetics of the Archive, White Space and Take Note; the 2019 and 2020 poetry translation challenges with Modern Poetry in Translation; the Mary Wollstonecraft challenge, written and judged by Bee Rowlatt of the Mary on the Green campaign; the moon poetry challenge, judged by Nii Parkes; the Golden Shovel challenge, judged by Peter Kahn; the Bletchley Park challenge, judged by So Mayer; the W. S. Graham challenge judged by Rachael Boast as part of Graham’s centenary celebrations; and Ankita Saxena’s protest poetry challenge, remembering 100 years of the women’s vote in the UK.
        )

)
stdClass Object
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    [ID] => 18987
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Ellora Sutton
    [slug] => ellora-sutton
    [content] => Ellora Sutton is an MA student from Hampshire. She has won the Mslexia Poetry Competition, the Artlyst Art to Poetry Award, and the Pre-Raphaelite Society Poetry Competition. She tweets @ellora_sutton.

Ellora is the first-prize winner of the Carol Ann Duffy challenge on Young Poets Network, judged by Mari Hughes-Edwards, and celebrating Duffy's legacy as Poet Laureate. She is also the first-prize winner of Bailey Blackburn's 2018 August challenge #2 on found poems and the third Bloodaxe Archive challenge, The Re-Re-Re-Drafting Challenge. Ellora is also the second-prize winner in August challenge #4 on the poetics of interrogation, written and judged by Foyle Young Poet Kara Jackson in 2019. She is the third-prize winner of the Ode to (Small) Joy challenge and August Challenge #2: Fairy Tale Poetry.

Ellora is commended in Young Poets Network's 10th anniversary challenge; the Keats challenge, part of The Poetry Society's celebrations of Keats's bicentenary in 2021; in the first, second and fourth Bloodaxe Archive challenges, The Poetics of the Archive, White Space and Take Note; the 2019 and 2020 poetry translation challenges with Modern Poetry in Translation; the Mary Wollstonecraft challenge, written and judged by Bee Rowlatt of the Mary on the Green campaign; the moon poetry challenge, judged by Nii Parkes; the Golden Shovel challenge, judged by Peter Kahn; the Bletchley Park challenge, judged by So Mayer; the W. S. Graham challenge judged by Rachael Boast as part of Graham’s centenary celebrations; and Ankita Saxena’s protest poetry challenge, remembering 100 years of the women’s vote in the UK.
)

On Becoming a Changeling

Ellora Sutton

The forsythia, like all stars, is dying
its impermanent death. Gold, bronze,
gone. I yank my old hair from the brush,
leave it in parcels on the doorstep
for the birds – magpie, robin, song thrush.
The pheasants make their road accident sounds,
twisted metal out their mouths. I am still
and heavy so long the mud welcomes me home,
my feet enter the squelch as though fleshless.
Mosquitos throb me bejeweled, jet and ruby,
standing on the bank. The stream is a wild girl
at a music festival, scabbed with body glitter.
She knows all the words to all the songs,
I am trying to learn.                   I am so still
mice forget me or mistake me for a birch.
They have hands like I have hands.
They might be water rats. I might be
water rats. I’m feeling plural like that,
the sun sucking my elbows, sunning me wide.
I fumble across a field. My body is a field.
I breathe deep enough to turn myself inside out.
At the edge, the forest sways its seductive, tipsy sway.
I show her my colony of mosses, my amulets
of nettle-rash stuck close to my bones like blood-
wet grass as we trade ghazals of mulch and birdsong.
The cut-out dolls of green light between branches dance,
take my hands, my eyes. I return home, bitten.