The Kingdom of Small Things - Poetry winner of the Hachette Australia Prize 2025
Congratulations to Jiayi Fang (NSW), winner of the Poetry category of the Hachette Australia Prize for Young Writers for 2025! '
Read Jiayi’s winning piece below, followed by the 2025 prize showcase.
The Kingdom of Small Things
by Jiayi Fang
I was once a citizen
of the kingdom of small things—
where shoelaces were dragons,
and puddles were oceans
waiting to be conquered.
Where the sun was a spotlight
and every swing creaked
like it was telling a secret
only I could understand.
I spoke the language of scraped knees,
of sticky fingers clutching melting ice cream,
of bedtime stories that felt like spells
cast to keep all the monsters and the dark away.
Time was elastic then—
a long stretch of afternoons
filled with chalk dust,
sunscreen,
and the sound of endless laughter
at dad’s goofy side
and mum’s superb jokes
echoing off doors
in the home much loved.
I believed in forever.
In the permanence of cubbyhouses,
friendships sealed with pinky promises.
I didn’t know
that monsters could wear suits,
that the world is so difficult for so many,
that some children grow up,
learning to flinch before they smile.
I didn’t know
that growing up meant
learning to carry invisible weights
and pretending they weren’t heavy.
But I remember
the exact shade of blue
on my favourite t-shirt,
the thrill of a coin in a vending machine,
the thrill of whizzing down the giant slide at the local park,
the thrill of learning about the wonders of the world,
the way balloons bobbed in the wind
while I felt like the centre
of a small, spinning universe.
I remember how joy didn’t need permission—
it just arrived,
unannounced,
in the form of a bubble
that didn’t pop too soon.
I remember
the last time I cried without shame,
the last time I danced without watching,
the last time I believed
that growing up meant answers.
And I remember watermelons—
sliced thick on summer days,
and always tasting so good,
juice running down my chin,
seeds spit like tiny missiles
into the grass,
as if childhood could be measured
in sticky hands and laughter.
And now,
when I see a child
chasing a butterfly
across the park
with reckless hope
I feel something stir
deep within me
ready to erupt—
A soft ache,
A quiet memory.
Because childhood doesn’t vanish.
it folds itself into corners,
hides in songs,
lingers in scents,
waits in the wings
of who we all become,
as we morph into the next phases of our lives.
It lives in the way
we still reach for safety
in the dark.
In the way we smile
at shadows that feel familiar.
In lives in the silence before sleep,
when the world softens
and we remember
the ones who once waited for us
at the bottom of the slide,
laughing like forever was real.
And if we’re lucky,
if we’re gentle
if we listen—
we can still hear it.
The kingdom of small things,
calling us home.
Watch the 2025 showcase video: