Surrealism

A painting

in a leaning house

hung without a frame;

suspended,

askew upon the wall.

A face

on a painting,

spiraling and stretched

to the corners

like the canvas itself.

A face

with eyes melting like mercury

and a mouth

sealed shut like wax.

No nose nor ears,

just empty sockets;

holes for which

to reach in,

take hold of the mind,

and lobotomize it.

Thick skin that stays

taut in the cold,

but droops down

as the heat rolls in.

A head of hair that falls off

and slides around the face

like polluted waterfalls.

A face

that twists

and contorts

and bulges out

as more and more

wet paint is piled on,

never letting

the anatomical features

find a comfortable

configuration.

A face

made of acrylic,

and a brush

that won’t let it dry.

Iona Leslie, Grade 10

Creative Writing Major