I must love you quietly, embarrassed by your unwieldy desolate sprawl, your cold heart and shameless lack of fashion sense; deliberately love what you have cobbled together so carelessly on gridded streets predictable as a sitcom, the 1980s a garish tattoo on your nether regions. (Had you been born beautiful, a sultry New Orleans, gamine Paris or majestic Damascus; were you known for romance or elegance, or like Montreal were praised for joie de vivre . . .
Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 3. Purchase the book to read the full piece.
Toronto locations referenced in this piece
“I, at least, am yours, have spent a lifetime learning to know you, skittish mongrel, ambitious tart: I stow my heart in Kensington Market . . . ” —Kensington Ave.
“ . . . beneath the Danforth Bridge, hoping time will treat you kindly and my devotion be not worthless . . . ” —Danforth Bridge
“Eastern Avenue will become a berm, an artificial hill to guard new downtown condos from the Don River’s floods every 150 years . . . ” —Don River