An empty soup bowl was placed in front of me.
I peered at the floral pattern in the center:
a purple iris, and a crimson rose against
gold-rimmed white porcelain.

I looked up.
A tall waiter ladled soup into the bowl
submerging the flowers.

Like an unbidden song, that scene gets replayed.

The flowers in the bowl.
The lifting of the ladle
The gentle splash in the bowl
The submersion of the flowers.

What kind of soup?
How did it taste?
Apparently, not relevant.

Just the flowers in the bowl
The lifting of the ladle
The gentle splash in the bowl
The submersion of the flowers.