1st Place Winner – Flash 405, February 2026: “Oops”
Nonfiction
I.
The doctor held her stethoscope to my chest. I breathed in and out. I was concealing my truth well until this moment of physicality. “You’re like a hummingbird,” she said. “Are you nervous?” I would rather do away with formalities, I thought. I would rather she put me out of my misery. She then had me turn onto my stomach, listened to my heart through my back.
II.
Is it sharp or is it dull? Does it reside in the spine or in the shoulder blades? Left or right? Would you say it has weight? Is it more like a cat or a dog? Does it give off a certain heat? Does it have eyes? If it had eyes, would it squint? Without thinking too hard, describe the pain’s color. Is it vivid or muted? Does it seem to be mocking you? Are you more afraid of or angry at the pain? Would you hit it, if you could? Would you kill it? Is your pain also in pain? Is its pain pleasurable in any way? Point to the pain on a doll. Can you imagine the doll’s expression? Does it make crying sounds on cue?
III.
Each fluorescent panel of light was pasted over with a vinyl image of clouds against a blue sky. My physical therapist held my neck in her cold hands, thumbs running rote circles from the neck, up to the base of the skull, and back again. I was covered in a thin film of sweat. The false clouds were taunting me. “Did that hurt?” She would ask this following each physical manipulation. After working on the neck, she cued me to shift onto my stomach. I made the mistake of wearing mascara to my first appointment. As she crushed the tender flesh of my back, moving meticulously toward the yolk of my pain, I was pressed deeper and deeper into the massage table. I lifted my head and was met with dark smears on the teal vinyl. I thought of all the times I had made love earnestly and felt cowed by the things I left behind.
IV.
I had a Barbie once with a camera embedded in her back. The screen protruded out of her stomach. It offered a grainy approximation of truth. I’m sorry, I lied. I only imagined owning the Barbie. It felt true coming out.
Judge’s Comments: This piece is such a beautiful encapsulation of what lyrical flash can be. Toeing the line between nonfiction and poetry, it digs into the pain and sometimes-horror of living in a physical body. I was struck by the exploration of truth versus lie and the layers of what pain can hold.
Grace McGovern is an MFA candidate in poetry at Washington University in St. Louis. Her work has appeared in phoebe, Puerto del Sol, West Trade Review, and others. She lives in St. Louis with her wife and their dog and cat.
Photo from Gerry Images