The special 10th anniversary collection of poems by the Rock Canyon Poets, with over 75 pages of poems by living poets.

Praise for Orogeny: Volume 7

Arising in a particularly salty part of the Great American Desert, The Rock Canyon Poets look into the fundamental landscape to question accepted homogeneities, and find them crumbling rapidly. These poems observe and examine evolving scenes of love, family, and community in the crucible that is twenty-first century Utah, USA, and sees the world reimagined. The fact that this group of writers has lasted long enough to collaborate on a 7th anthology is a testament to the power of small diverse groups of humans who come together with the common urge – to write – and thus, find ways to move through the modern wilderness with increasing grace. Picking up the frayed pieces of their lives these poets collectively decide that, as one of the prime movers of the group, Trish Hopkinson, says, “When the garden grows poison, make pie.”

—Danny Rosen, Lithic Press

In “Breadcrumbs,” one of the poems in this anthology, Stacy Julin writes, “A blue umbrella / from my aunt’s favorite drink, / a smooth purple rock / from the dirt / up the canyon. / My painted heart locket on a silver chain, / scattered through drawers, / boxes of our house.” To me, those lines are like a metaphor for this whole book. It isn’t just a box full of 49 poems. It’s more like a home—with a poem in a drawer here, a poem like a switched-on lamp over there, a hurt poem talking to her friend on the phone, another poem cooking in the kitchen, a poem that smells like tangerines, a poem in place of the TV news, poems turning and falling from November limbs or coloring the Wasatch Mountains out the window, all coming together like a note on the table to remind us what to remember.

—Rob Carney, author of The Book of Drought

This well-sequenced volume carries us down a river of bright sensation: the poems are streaked with visual beauty, sensual grasp, tricky faith and saving disillusion. Violence and shelter. Along the way: birth, un-birth; naming, renaming. Intimate artifacts of death. Fallen peaches, wayward seedlings, and you’ll never stop seeing tangerines. Settle into your favorite reading place and savor the seventh Orogeny. Twice and again. Gorgeous.

—Karin Anderson, author of What Falls Away and (forthcoming 2025) Things I Didn’t Do