Stacey Barbe, United States's National Honour, August 2026
Stacey Barbe wrote the highest-scoring poem from United States in the Writory International Poetry Contest, August 2026: The House That Had Teeth, scored 97 out of 100 by the blind judging panel across five published criteria. The poem was read in English.
The House That Had Teeth
The House That Had Teeth I lived in a house that had teeth. It did not swallow me whole. It began chewing me up, one bite at a time. The iron front door slammed shut. The lock turned from the inside. I hid. Half my tiny face peeked around a corner. Half a child was harder to find. The refrigerator's inner light outshined my own. The ice cream man's tune rolled down our street. Other children ran toward sweetness. I stayed frozen inside that house. I tied on an apron of shame and tried to help in the kitchen. Not even that apron could keep her vomit and spit from staining my white dress. I kept a spoon in my clenched fist. As soon as Daddy walked through the door, she served up a whole different story. Her lies dripped like honey into his ear before the bitter truth could leave my lips. The belt believed her. A sob the size of her fist rose in my throat. I swallowed it dry. I begged for mercy, and nobody even threw me a bone. All I got was a jawbreaker. After that, I kept my jaw wired shut. Before we could eat dinner, my dad would say grace out loud. Under my breath, I prayed for comfort food. I knew better than to ask her for seconds. She might serve me more than I hungered for. My stomach growled the apologies I never got. That house chewed me up and spit me out. I packed my lunch with hatred and that spoon, a brown bag special I carried with me. I opened it, hoping for a meal, but it only left me starving. Hunger helped me build a house of my own, one without teeth. I set my dinner table, pulled out a chair, and fed that hatred for years. I started digging a grave for her in my backyard, one spoonful at a time. Slowly, the dirt began rising around my own body. Some of us feed hatred all of our lives. Some of us never learn to feed the child starving inside.
Every country's leading poet each month is named on the August 2026 National Honours. The contest is open to poets in United States and everywhere else: enter the current round, and every poem receives a score out of 100 and a certificate.