IN VIEW OF MT. HOOD
by Katie Phillips
I watched the sheep
munch the grass
in one field.
​
They moved into another
field, and I watched them
there until only two
​
were left at the gate
and then even they ran
down the hill. I watched
​
the mountain and she watched
me. We moved through space,
never closer, never farther.
​
When I couldn't see
the sheep anymore
I closed my eyes
​
and listened to them call
to each other over the sprinkler
and the sound of the planet,
​
the wind through
the trees—first the pears,
then the apples.
ABOUT KATIE
Katie Phillips has worked as a hotel housekeeper, a laundromat attendant, a magazine telemarketer, a library clerk, and a church administrator. She lives (and writes, works, bikes, and walks dogs) in southern Illinois with her husband and their dog. Her work has been published by The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, Pittsburgh Poetry Review, and Cider Press Review, among others. Katie's chapbook “Driving Montana, Alone” was published in 2010 by Slapering Hol Press, and the title poem was later read by Garrison Keillor on NPR's The Writer's Almanac.