
WELKIN GENRE PRIZE 2026 - WINNER OF THE BODY PRIZE
Dear Walt Whitman
by Sara Hills

I know you want me to sing that here, in the translucent shell of my body, live the soft sighs of angels. That somehow I’ve been able to break free from that dark-throated bird to luxuriate in the hollowed glen under my skirt, to dance with the gods, like you do, thrumming in celebration of your own electric-bodied song. But I am the same smallsome girl who learned better than to raise her voice above a whisper, and there is no part of me that furls and unfurls without still feeling caught in the beak.
Sara Hills is the author of the award-winning flash fiction collection The Evolution of Birds (Ad Hoc Fiction, 2021). Her work has been widely published in anthologies and magazines, including SmokeLong Quarterly, Bath Flash Fiction Award, Fractured Lit, Cease Cows, Flash Frog, Fictive Dream, and elsewhere. Find her online at sarahillswrites.com.
Judge's comment:
The right frame is a powerful thing in a micro – what we want in this tight word count is to be shown a new angle on the quotidian – like the experience of seeing someone flirt with your mother. From this winning micro’s title, we are eavesdropping into a conversation between the narrator and Walt Whitman. This angle adds a frisson of voyeurism to the words we hear the narrator speak - “hollowed glen under my skirt” for example. This so subtly and cleverly creates a sense of disquiet in the reader, so when we read “furls and unfurls” with that beautiful imagery of trying to flap away, and then that stunning last phrase “still feeling caught in the beak”, we are also yanked back by the tether of traumatic conditioning. A story that tells you what it’s going to do while doing it, and you are still taken by surprise.



