POEM: Kensington Market

I am in search of inspiration for my next story.

I go to Kensington Market to find it.

Vintage is a hub of all forgotten stories,

And I love uncovering those hidden gems.

Kensington Market is the perfect place to find hidden gems.

I take a stroll along Kensington Avenue.

There are dozens of vintage shops along the street.

I take the time to browse each of them.

I am fascinated by the stories of the past.

Flapper dresses, mink coats, purses, necklaces, bracelets, jewelry boxes, candle holders, chandeliers, old magazines, portraits from other times.

Each of the items from the vintage market tells a story.

I love imagining those stories.

A Fendi bag in one of the vintage shops calls my name.

It may be some decades old, but it’s still in good shape.

I think of the woman who wore it and loved it before me.

Her name was Clara.

She was a fashionista,

And she loved fine things.

Stylish.

A fashion editor for “Vogue” magazine in the nineties.

Exciting fashion stories sprang to life from the glossy pages of the magazine, with her name on them, every month.

Fashion was her life.

She was the toast of the town in the Big Apple.

All men desired her.

All women wanted to be like her.

Her Fendi accompanied her everywhere – to the office, to dinner, to parties.

Then she fell in love.

She moved to Toronto to be with the man she loved.

She brought her Fendi bag with her.

She wore it when she met his parents.

When they went out to dinner Downtown Toronto.

When they went to see movies on Friday nights.

When they went to parties with his group of friends.

When she started her new job as a fashion editor in Toronto.

When she attended fashion shows in Toronto.

When they traveled together.

Once a staple in New York,

The bag was now her staple in Toronto.

She was happy with him for a while.

And then he broke her heart.

She returned to New York.

Part of her life in Toronto followed her back to New York,

Part was left behind.

The painful memories were left behind.

The Fendi bag ended up in Kensington Market.

Years later, it was my turn to wear it and love it.

When I bought it at the vintage shop in Kensington Market,

I found a little handwritten note in its inside pocket.

I will always love you. Clara.

She must have meant to give it to him,

But decided not to, after all, brokenhearted.

Sometimes I think about Clara when I wear the Fendi bag.

I hope her heart healed in New York.

Her love for fashion stayed the same.

I write a story about Kensington Market,

And I dedicate it to Clara.

The Fendi bag has a new life in Toronto, in my wardrobe.

Dinners, movies, parties, fashion shows – it’s where it belongs.

It is now loved again, and it is my staple.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 171.