Welcome toThe Table Review!
Digital Archive
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Two Poems
Story PoleMy dad cracks an egg on my head.—or maybe it’s my grandpathis time—it could be varnish / menthol / gasoline;it could be sawdust / Fast Orange / airplane glue,… Read more ⇢
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Something, digested to
Again last night I dreamed the dream called Laundromat.Again I am the one tumbling. I’m gnawed to the cadenceof the dryer’s drum; a metronome for your unblinkingpupils to watch me… Read more ⇢
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Two Poems
These Basic Principles I believe there is a forestthat haunts the decimation of forests,that lives in the dry spellsbetween glaciers, the ages of icein which furred gods live. I believe… Read more ⇢
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Inheritance
I knew my dad had moved back to Oregon, but neither of us reached out right away. Winter came and went, I was busy with school, I felt bad about… Read more ⇢
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Stoned fruit
Thin-skinned, heavy heart. Easily bruised, must be turned with care to ripen optimally. Delicate conditions, delicate flesh. Wash & indulge, pierce into sweet, soft skin. I eat the nectarine, imagine… Read more ⇢
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Drawn Out Into Rivers
Putting on a pot to boil, I could see my breath float away from me. So desperately, I wanted my air to keep dragging out like one long rope. It… Read more ⇢
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mise-en-scène
Mark Ruffalo climbs the trellis of a dollhouse and into the window of a bedroom. It sounds like the drum clap of a Big Thief instrumental. I lay on the… Read more ⇢
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Schenectady, NY
Another sunny day on Baker Ave. Amongst the hostas, manycaterpillars chew holes, ignoredandelions, & grow plumper by the hour.Every day has been soft except for this one. This morning, myfather… Read more ⇢
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His Mothers and the Mountain
Rory Leary waited while his older sister, Maureen, stayed after school to finish a fourth-grade project. A boy with time to kill, he deemed it sufficient reason to dawdle in… Read more ⇢
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Two Poems
Autumn Twilight All the flaring of the day Dissipates, leaving cracks For waves of winds To sweep in a clear-cut night Four FrogsFor the past half century, I have never… Read more ⇢
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Jo—
(Pops stood at the edge of the porch, listening hard. His hands rested on the railing, his ear cocked toward the stars; at the far end of the fields, the… Read more ⇢
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Buzzards
In our ’25 Chevy Malibu, plastic still on the matsSalem-bound— your old man’s birthday,back seat stuffed with American flag balloons.We seem to have a way, you say,of replacing candor with… Read more ⇢
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Memento
My father has been dead for over twenty-five years. Most of those who knew him when he was young, in his prime, or even as an older man are dead.… Read more ⇢
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Two Poems
Thunderstorm Surreptitious,it rolls into the beat ofdistant drumsand raindropstentativeand softas flower petals,but upon usturns naturerun rogue,casting a netof blackover the land,the only lightin the skyfrom the boltsit haphazardly flingsin childish… Read more ⇢
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Surrey Quays
On her bicycle, going west, she always stops at the lights by the Surrey Quays station. Partly this is because the odd tangle of road is a catnip for an… Read more ⇢
