koto music
to relax, ease my spirit
to give me wings
homing me to a place
of tranquil memories
My date promises a special dinner, an adventure in eating. He heads west towards Hollywood, towards the Sunset strip. I think Musso and Frank’s Grill, Chasen’s, Scandia. He is mum.
He turns right and winds his way up, ending at a rough parking lot below a large, one-storied wooden structure in the style of a Japanese house with low hanging eaves. The grounds are overgrown and appear to have been neglected for years. My date tells me this once was a hotel with bungalows hidden in the shrubbery and trees, a trysting place for those seeking anonymity.
We walk up a gravel path after examining the alternative, a rickety wooden staircase. At the top, we cross a moon bridge over a koi pond which extends under the building into an inner courtyard and are met by a woman wearing a deep blue kimono splashed with cherry blossoms and white cranes. She asks if we want “inside dining in Japanese manner with view of koi pond or outside in Western manner with view of city.” Only then do I notice what’s behind me.
purple and gold sky
marking the onset
of a twinkling dusk
as the city prepares
for darkness
My date has reserved seating inside, and we are led along a wooden veranda, passing rooms, some open, some closed with a heavy paper screen, to our private room. Our hostess slides the screen open.
“Please to remove shoes,” she says. We do as she does and enter an exquisitely, flawless, sparsely decorated room with a low table in the center, square pillows for sitting, tatami mats on the floor, and a slightly raised alcove against the far wall with a blue and white vase holding a single bird of paradise. To the right of the alcove is another sliding screen from which our servers enter and exit. They come bearing hot cloths for cleansing our hands, cups, bowls, chop sticks, and a hibachi. While our chef prepares the meal, we sip hot sake and listen to the strings of a koto that someone is playing by the koi pond. My eyes flit from watching the chef to my date.
how does love begin?
a word, a look given
a meal shared?
the way to a heart
has many paths
Adelaide Literary Magazine
Sept. 2020
