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Landscape in Dolomite and Ferric Oxide Northern Alabama Jake Adam York A darker place in the darks of the woods, a copse or thicket, a small, perfect hill hidden and familiar in the filtered dim, a shadow daylight can’t dispel. A mound like a woman’s, covered with trees. The rise the Choctaws say they crawled from on the first day of language. Almost the haystack wave of a Cherokee burying ground, or an elder kernel of earth curled around a curl of bones. But closer, a cairn, not earthwork but stone, a handmade hill with doors for the wind, to which we return and know a furnace, grey as an empty bullet in which men have burned alive. Originally appeared in Louisiana Literature
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