Competition

I came second place in the international chess competition. Lost because of something to do
with a rook. The international German competition, too—they told me my vowels were too
dark. That was the same for the portrait competition. Even the judges of the brass band
competition said that my tuba had the wrong kind of shine. It distracted from the
musicianship of your colleagues, the report said, the one I tore into tiny white pieces and fed
to my tiny white cat. The trumpeters said they didn’t blame me for it but in the window of the
Salvation Army citadel I could see them doubting me and Christ. Of course, you know I
didn’t do any of this—it’s just something I tell myself, like how you tell your friends the story
of a breakup fifty times over until you believe it. After my competition or
non-competition-related heartbreak, I went to After Hours, telling them that I must have
become some sort of winged creature, because I couldn’t swim. They told me that I was mad
and needed to sleep. In my room, the rustle of my blood sounded like a cricket under the
pillow. I checked but there was nothing there. I wondered to myself who would ever want it:
the wet cold consolation prize of my heart.

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Cadence Chung is a poet, mezzo-soprano, and composer. Her books are anomalia (Tender Press, 2022), Mythos: An Audio-Visual Anthology of Art by Young New Zealanders (Wai-te-Ata Press, 2024), and Mad Diva (Otago University Press, 2025). She also edits Symposia Magazine and the New Zealand Poetry Society’s quarterly magazine, a fine line.