Poem: Why do I remember this?

Why do I remember?
I’ve carried this,
and now–see?–here it is.

Guided by a compulsion (that has never left me)
I painted the walls of my mother’s house
the entire length of the hallway;
floating above the floor–I was light.

You’ll laugh, but it was art.
That’s the simple truth.

My mother didn’t see it that way,
in fact, she was outraged.
Again you’ll laugh, but I was flabbergasted.
I didn’t understand her.

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