I have traded-in silence
For audio books
Procedural crime novels, in fact
I admit I'm filling the time
Which rhymes with killing the time
Also true
​I'm even ironing the dish towels
Which I told a friend about, laughing at myself
He said, "It's come to that, has it?"
And it has

This waiting is hard
Holding my breath
Worrying, frozen
Like spent orchids I refuse to throw out
Nothing lost but the blooms that might have been
During this period of neglect.