'otherwise'

The date on the faded receipt reads Sunday, Jun 16, 2002. Six years ago. (Edited to correct the math!) Six years ago that I started a ritual of buying a book at Drury Lane Books each time Steve and I visited Grand Marais. Six years ago that I bought the book of poems I pulled off the shelf again last night to revisit. I remember standing in the front room of the little bookstore and picking up this book. I remember how it hooked me from the moment I started reading the back cover. I remember how I cried as I read the title poem to Steve. Last night, we read it again, and we both wept. Here it is:

Otherwise
By Jane Kenyon

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

Jane Kenyon was married to the poet Donald Hall. She died of leukemia in 1995 while compiling this collection of poems.