It was supposed to be sturdy, the first investment in our new marriage. As newlyweds, we had our differences in opinions of style, but the smooth, hardwood table was the one thing we instantly agreed on. As our relationship wore on, the table became stained, marked, and abused, as did parts of ourselves. My ego bruised and battered as you bring up how much you hate my family one more time. Yours as I critique how you have to leave me every Thursday night for poker with the boys. The odd thing was, all of our fights were centered around this table, and originally we were impressed with the stability.
A piece of furniture used to hold things. Whether it be useless things like trash, candy, or memorable things like pictures or frames. It is what brings together both the
Kevin S
on the table there is a pen. A writing utensil. capable of creating so much more than what it appears. from the mouth of a pen has come every word that you or I have ever read.
Mikr
the table was covered in the beautiful white cloth. the one with all the fine details. but that didn’t matter. what mattered was who was at the table. the wondrous people there of whom i’m happy to share everything with. we shall always remain.
Between the couple, on the old, wooden table, was a vase filled with gardenias that her ex-boyfriend had sent for her birthday.
Laura Sebastian
Under the table it was safer. The ground rumbled. Chunks of concrete collapsed next me. I quickly pulled my legs closer in, assuming fetal position. We waited.
Yellow Submarine
I sit at this place as I always have done
and stare as you stare at your plate
and hope you’ll look up, and the battle once won
you’ll care more for me than what you ate
Daisy
The shower curtain we use as a table cloth has a beach on it. Let’s go on vacation.
There was nothing on the table when he came home for the night. He hadn’t been wrong earlier. That tone of voice was unmistakable. He knew as he had hung up the phone that she would be in the bedroom when he got home. A frown tugged the corners of his mouth.
Mason
I sat down to eat my paltry supper on my dirty white table. If I had not made Matilda mad, maybe she would have fried some chicken for me. Instead I had cold grits to eat and a leftover biscuit as hard as a doorknob. When would I learn?
Though not satiated, I washed my tiny saucer and went to look for some unused paper and a pen that worked. It was time to finish the last chapter in my opus.
Shannom
Tables are where families are meant to gather, for meals, and conversation. Families should come together at least once a day to eat and talk, and discuss each other’s days. When families eat together at a table, they grow together, and learn to know one another.
The table was barren. Or empty? Is that what a table is when it doesn’t have anything on it? Blank, also a good one. Either way. It looked unused. Unhome. That’s not a word. It didn’t look like anyone had ever touched it, and sitting in the living room, it looked completely bizarre.
i am content. for here i sit at a desk, made table, swaying and drifting away to musical thoughts that fulfill my empty slots of adored ones home. i know that when i arrive back warmth filled hugs await me in between stares filled with loving drops greeting me as well. but i am here, and that is fine because i have become the next generation. the adult that was always going to make an appearance in her mothers vintage dress, a little off beat, but none the less present in the living world that awaits me.
The table sitting in front of the young woman was flat. Obviously, it was flat. She also noticed that the wood paneling was ugly, and it had several coffee rings on it, as if no one ever bothered to clean it. It was also a bad color, and stuck out in the room.
Myrlyn
The block of wood separated them, just like their thoughts and actions separated them. The ash wood was smooth and glossy, like the lives they drifted through each day.
annie
I sat alone at a table. Staring blankly at the other girls crowded in the small room. Nearly half of us wouldn’t make it out alive. It was silent in here. I felt the other girls eyes, shifting down by back.
AlexandraT
The table
sits in the family room,
waiting to be interacted with.
family dinner,
cornbread and green beans
and turkey tetrazzini
sitting on the surface,
silent voices
ringing in each other’s heads,
there is nothing to be said.
he put it there, on the table. out like the things he’d never said, let it sit, let it marinate into the brown wood and the metal. she looked at it, cold and sharp, and thought, well, now it’s done.
lols
He laid the picture on the table, his dark eyes never leaving mine. I shifted uncomfortably, unsure what he wanted.
wooden, strong, strong, flimsy, i doesn’t matter. A table is a table. A table for special occasion dinners: birthdays christmas, thanksgiving, anything!
Cassie
my table sucks
im trying to do homework on it and there are eraser shavings all over it
from when i do math homework
i only do my math hw in pencil and erasing my wrong answers adds do a shitload of eraser dust
“Get your feet off the dinner table,” Maw said to Paw, “we have food on it, and we don’t want you trackin’ yer stinkin’ dirt across the paté de foie gras.”
“Aw, shucks, maw,” he replied, “it’s not like the goose gives a patootie.”
The table laid abandoned at an oblong angle between the wall and the fire place and you could still see where bits of chair smoldered in the grate. The small dark room wreaked with the odor of burnt hair and the acidic tinge of the blood that now stained the straw matted floor. We had all seen this coming. “Only a small time before Jack loses his marbles!” That’s what they had all been saying.
im lying on top of a table, thinking what to do with my life. the table is made to serve people. they use the table when they dine, when they do their homework, when they serve coffee. then what am i made for?
z
the table had a bunch of work and a coffee on it. i wish it were a whiskey.
i wish there was a single light bulb over it. i wish that i had something witty and clever to say to the girl across from me. i could be the detective, and she could wear a red dress.
Caroline Kaplan
there is a table that i am sitting on i mean at…. prepositions are difficult. I wonder why i never learned that in school growing up. The american school system I mean educational system is going down the tubes. Fuck learning English accents, maybe I should concentrate on learning the english language first.
Peter Kendall
‘” From ikea! Typing fail! Under it. Fucking on it. Wanted “Barry! Barry! I sting like a bee!
Pollyanna
The table sat in the dusty corner of the barn, but the window was open just a crack and the sunlight came in an shone it’s light upon it.
Mary Lou Wynegar
le plum est sur la table. translation= the pen is on the table in french.. always reminds me of i love lucy.. which reminds me of my mom
Naomie Germain
tables are immensely useful
You can put things on them
Eat off of them
and dance on them when you
are thoroughly intoxicated.
Lizzy
it was large, and it was round. your words bounced off of it, empty as the room that surrounded it (surrounded you). there was a metaphor in this somewhere, something to do with sturdiness and emptiness and the state of your heart, but you had neither the time nor desire to figure it out.
Elena
This table is broken.
It doesn’t hold my things.
assbrain
A table is four legged creature. They can be seen in dining rooms and kitchens posing as furniture . Little do the owners know that during nighttime as they sleep soundly, that the tables creeps into their bedroom to stare and breath into their face all night.
Eat dinner around the table.
A place for communication and bonding.
Often neglected and ignored.
Where have the days gone where we cherished the times around the dinner table?
My kitchen table has a box of Kleenex, a bowl of sugar and a plate of cookies on it. It would feel like home if my roommates weren’t fighting and if we actually are dinner together at the table. I miss the sound of silence which is now filled with slamming doors.
Amanda
A table is a place for families to gather around… although mine doesn’t do that as much as I wish. It is also a place for work…. homework, crafts, making “masterpieces”….. cannot live without it.
Sherry
Table for one, thank you. Pathetic or empowering for me to dine alone?
The table’s back really hurts. Too many plates and food are on top of it. Poor table! It never has time to rest in the day!
It was supposed to be sturdy, the first investment in our new marriage. As newlyweds, we had our differences in opinions of style, but the smooth, hardwood table was the one thing we instantly agreed on. As our relationship wore on, the table became stained, marked, and abused, as did parts of ourselves. My ego bruised and battered as you bring up how much you hate my family one more time. Yours as I critique how you have to leave me every Thursday night for poker with the boys. The odd thing was, all of our fights were centered around this table, and originally we were impressed with the stability.
A piece of furniture used to hold things. Whether it be useless things like trash, candy, or memorable things like pictures or frames. It is what brings together both the
on the table there is a pen. A writing utensil. capable of creating so much more than what it appears. from the mouth of a pen has come every word that you or I have ever read.
the table was covered in the beautiful white cloth. the one with all the fine details. but that didn’t matter. what mattered was who was at the table. the wondrous people there of whom i’m happy to share everything with. we shall always remain.
Between the couple, on the old, wooden table, was a vase filled with gardenias that her ex-boyfriend had sent for her birthday.
Under the table it was safer. The ground rumbled. Chunks of concrete collapsed next me. I quickly pulled my legs closer in, assuming fetal position. We waited.
I sit at this place as I always have done
and stare as you stare at your plate
and hope you’ll look up, and the battle once won
you’ll care more for me than what you ate
The shower curtain we use as a table cloth has a beach on it. Let’s go on vacation.
Table for one. Don’t mind if I do,
Cosmo double vodka
My table is my fortress
There was nothing on the table when he came home for the night. He hadn’t been wrong earlier. That tone of voice was unmistakable. He knew as he had hung up the phone that she would be in the bedroom when he got home. A frown tugged the corners of his mouth.
I sat down to eat my paltry supper on my dirty white table. If I had not made Matilda mad, maybe she would have fried some chicken for me. Instead I had cold grits to eat and a leftover biscuit as hard as a doorknob. When would I learn?
Though not satiated, I washed my tiny saucer and went to look for some unused paper and a pen that worked. It was time to finish the last chapter in my opus.
Tables are where families are meant to gather, for meals, and conversation. Families should come together at least once a day to eat and talk, and discuss each other’s days. When families eat together at a table, they grow together, and learn to know one another.
The table was barren. Or empty? Is that what a table is when it doesn’t have anything on it? Blank, also a good one. Either way. It looked unused. Unhome. That’s not a word. It didn’t look like anyone had ever touched it, and sitting in the living room, it looked completely bizarre.
i am content. for here i sit at a desk, made table, swaying and drifting away to musical thoughts that fulfill my empty slots of adored ones home. i know that when i arrive back warmth filled hugs await me in between stares filled with loving drops greeting me as well. but i am here, and that is fine because i have become the next generation. the adult that was always going to make an appearance in her mothers vintage dress, a little off beat, but none the less present in the living world that awaits me.
The table sitting in front of the young woman was flat. Obviously, it was flat. She also noticed that the wood paneling was ugly, and it had several coffee rings on it, as if no one ever bothered to clean it. It was also a bad color, and stuck out in the room.
The block of wood separated them, just like their thoughts and actions separated them. The ash wood was smooth and glossy, like the lives they drifted through each day.
I sat alone at a table. Staring blankly at the other girls crowded in the small room. Nearly half of us wouldn’t make it out alive. It was silent in here. I felt the other girls eyes, shifting down by back.
The table
sits in the family room,
waiting to be interacted with.
family dinner,
cornbread and green beans
and turkey tetrazzini
sitting on the surface,
silent voices
ringing in each other’s heads,
there is nothing to be said.
i would like to hide under the table. it just seems like a safe place to be. i go back to my childhood games.
he put it there, on the table. out like the things he’d never said, let it sit, let it marinate into the brown wood and the metal. she looked at it, cold and sharp, and thought, well, now it’s done.
He laid the picture on the table, his dark eyes never leaving mine. I shifted uncomfortably, unsure what he wanted.
“Look at it.” He gestured to the photo.
I looked. And gasped.
“But that’s…”
He nodded.
“Thought you’d recognize it.”
wooden, strong, strong, flimsy, i doesn’t matter. A table is a table. A table for special occasion dinners: birthdays christmas, thanksgiving, anything!
my table sucks
im trying to do homework on it and there are eraser shavings all over it
from when i do math homework
i only do my math hw in pencil and erasing my wrong answers adds do a shitload of eraser dust
“Get your feet off the dinner table,” Maw said to Paw, “we have food on it, and we don’t want you trackin’ yer stinkin’ dirt across the paté de foie gras.”
“Aw, shucks, maw,” he replied, “it’s not like the goose gives a patootie.”
The table laid abandoned at an oblong angle between the wall and the fire place and you could still see where bits of chair smoldered in the grate. The small dark room wreaked with the odor of burnt hair and the acidic tinge of the blood that now stained the straw matted floor. We had all seen this coming. “Only a small time before Jack loses his marbles!” That’s what they had all been saying.
im lying on top of a table, thinking what to do with my life. the table is made to serve people. they use the table when they dine, when they do their homework, when they serve coffee. then what am i made for?
the table had a bunch of work and a coffee on it. i wish it were a whiskey.
i wish there was a single light bulb over it. i wish that i had something witty and clever to say to the girl across from me. i could be the detective, and she could wear a red dress.
there is a table that i am sitting on i mean at…. prepositions are difficult. I wonder why i never learned that in school growing up. The american school system I mean educational system is going down the tubes. Fuck learning English accents, maybe I should concentrate on learning the english language first.
‘” From ikea! Typing fail! Under it. Fucking on it. Wanted “Barry! Barry! I sting like a bee!
The table sat in the dusty corner of the barn, but the window was open just a crack and the sunlight came in an shone it’s light upon it.
le plum est sur la table. translation= the pen is on the table in french.. always reminds me of i love lucy.. which reminds me of my mom
tables are immensely useful
You can put things on them
Eat off of them
and dance on them when you
are thoroughly intoxicated.
it was large, and it was round. your words bounced off of it, empty as the room that surrounded it (surrounded you). there was a metaphor in this somewhere, something to do with sturdiness and emptiness and the state of your heart, but you had neither the time nor desire to figure it out.
This table is broken.
It doesn’t hold my things.
A table is four legged creature. They can be seen in dining rooms and kitchens posing as furniture . Little do the owners know that during nighttime as they sleep soundly, that the tables creeps into their bedroom to stare and breath into their face all night.
Eat dinner around the table.
A place for communication and bonding.
Often neglected and ignored.
Where have the days gone where we cherished the times around the dinner table?
My kitchen table has a box of Kleenex, a bowl of sugar and a plate of cookies on it. It would feel like home if my roommates weren’t fighting and if we actually are dinner together at the table. I miss the sound of silence which is now filled with slamming doors.
A table is a place for families to gather around… although mine doesn’t do that as much as I wish. It is also a place for work…. homework, crafts, making “masterpieces”….. cannot live without it.
Table for one, thank you. Pathetic or empowering for me to dine alone?