What Floats is your frilled dress from dance nights, caresses in bed, distant loved ones just visible in the reeds, fig leaves you left on a grave, lopsided toy ship your grandpa made. That’s what stays, tapping gently into porcelain as the water browns, never touching the drain. What sinks is charred soil, bleeding roots, dead finch you saved, then dropped to the worms, microwave fumes choking your favorite part of the skyline, skeletons posed for photo ops, lava flooding postcard towns like a strung noose, embryo leaking from refuse-- all of which whirls down through the crack in your toe, continuing to whistle, stifled, low, so that even as you bathe in what’s left, you always know. Tyler Thier Tyler Thier is a Brooklyn-based adjunct professor and freelance film critic with previous publications in the New York Public Library Zine!, After the Pause, the Maier Museum of Art, Tuck Magazine, and The Ekphrastic Review itself. Additionally, he is a performed playwright and an enthusiast of bare-bones, no-frills Irish pubs.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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January 2021
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