The Number 12 Looks Just Like You

Emily Perkovich’s ability to present the body, the mind and trauma response in such a visceral way without a sense of gratuitousness, is masterful. In this collection she creates a bone-deep depiction of human instinct and need, exploring the inner reaches of the self and the precipices we hold ourselves against, hands threatening to let go at any moment. Too often even those who suffer fall foul to romanticising pain but The Number 12 Looks Just Like You seeks only to be honest. Rather than revel in vulnerability, Perkovich’s work is a reminder of all that remains to be achieved if we truly wish to have conversations without judgement, without the fear of what is said once you leave the room. It is a reminder that to lay bare our musculoskeletal truths is both a burden and a freedom, both of which are as heavy as a still beating heart in your hands.

–Kristiana Reed, EIC of Free Verse Revolution, author of Flowers on the Wall

More gut punch than poetry collection, The Number 12 Looks Just Like You is a stirring and evocative read on body dysmorphia and eating disorders. Perkovich does not hold back in her stark imagery, providing the reader with such raw insight that this chapbook feels more like a personal invitation into her mind, rather than simply a work of art. Equal parts disquieting and profound, this collection shows off Perkovich’s strength: creating beautifully crafted prose from every aspect of life.

–Casey Dean, author of Wilkes-Barre Cry Break

In a room “where light can’t find the shape,” this is a place of acknowledgement. A place of teaching that comes from a position of suffering. In The Number 12 Looks Just Like You, Emily Perkovich masterfully draws language into circles and silhouettes around eating disorders and body dysmorphia, generational trauma and domestic violence—“I have always weighed myself. Sometimes in pain and ache. Occasionally in an inundating lust for loss.” Even the rhythm within her poems is an ally to the light, to us—to everyone suffering and everyone who knows someone suffering, because sometimes the light sits on the bridge of the nose, the stray hair, or the cheekbone, leaving them indefinite.

–Nadine Hitchiner, author of Bruises, Birthmarks & Other Calamities (Cathexis Northwest Press, 2021)