“Charles Laughton” by Eric Norris

There is no star I can identify
With anymore, except you: Captain Bligh,
Rembrandt, Henry, Hunchback, married to
The Bride of Frankenstein. I look at you,

I see the man behind the hand that hides
Half of the Hunchback’s face, the mouth that cries,
“S-so beautiful!” to Esmeralda,
Embarrassed by its ugliness. A stellar

Performance, that eclipse. The shadows your
Fat fingers cast across the screen endure
Like unreciprocated love. This was
The only gesture you could make: because

You poured your soul into Quasimodo’s
One good, glistening eye. I suppose,
A soul was all you felt you had to give
The world, so that great gargoyle could live.

Eric Norris lives in Portlandia, USA. His poems and reviews have appeared in The Peacock Journal, Classical Outlook, E-Verse Radio, Singapore Poetry, Soft Blow, Assaracus, Glitterwolf, New Walk Magazine, The Good Men Project, and American Arts Quarterly.