Shagalicious poem.

Diamond doors and fifties floors
Greeted our travel-tired entrance.
Rounded edges and iron legs
Had we gone back in time perchance?

My mother’s placemats and bedside lamps
And a fireplace that looked like home
A sleek small mantle and metal-wrapped candles
And a white heavy telephone.

It was part of my past, gone at last
Left behind with the house on the hill
With the fifties floors and waffle-glass doors
My memories were faded, not real.

But it all came back when we unpacked
And settled into this place
I choked down a tear, I was there I was here
And the memories were more than a taste.