Head and Tail
Hydra head of snake bites
its gigantic tail
(body absent)
and as it tightens
its eternal circle
every beginning
directly joins
the end
and the always
absent body
signifies the absence
of the main body.
Antony Fostieris – Selected Poems
Day: June 12, 2026
Übermensch
Funeral
We buried him, yesterday afternoon, in the freshly dug soil,
as if he was a young twig, the poet with his gray beard.
His only sin: so much he loved the birds that to punish him
they didn’t come to his funeral.
Sun went down behind the army barracks with the victims
of tomorrow and a lone hawk, the song lover, sat on the oak
branch; women lamented for the day’s yellow rapture and after
approving everything the hawk flew away, as though to define
distance. Wind blew over the lake surface searching for the traitor
who had run to the restaurant on the opposite shore where
judgement was passed, while the ancient cross remained with
no corpse.
Everyone felt joyous, wine and finger food had to do with it,
the hawk returned with news of the beggar who extended
his hand and softly begged, ’two bits, man, God bless your
soul, two bits.’
I like all those who live only to die so they can
reach the other shore.
In Turbulent Times
excerpt
‘So there you have it, Michael. A rather sad or maybe a tragic story. I’ve had lovers myself, but nothing serious. And I’ve always insisted on Durex. I was caught once before and I was determined not to get caught again. I thought I was safe with you. I wanted sex with a man without a condom for a change. You don’t mind me saying that, do you?’ She smiled. ‘You let me down, but I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault. I’m actually enjoying being pregnant again.’ She squeezed his hand and reclined again in the armchair.
‘You’ve had a baby then?’
‘When I was sixteen. Much too young to be a mother. So I gave it up for adoption.’
‘So no children with Robert.’
‘No, and none likely. The father of my first baby was an eighteen-year-old boy. He’s a fisherman in Lisnaglass now. Married and has four sons.’ Connie looked at Michael again. ‘Poor Michael. I think you would have liked to have had four sons yourself.’
‘I’d have been happy with one,’ Michael said, then paused in silent reflection of the fickle trickery of nature. He took his first drink, then, returning Connie’s look, he asked, ‘What will Robert say or do when he finds out you’re pregnant?’
‘Probably nothing. I am nothing to Robert now. The sad thing is that I love him. I truly love him.’ Her voice faltered, and she let her head fall back on the chair again, her eyes closed. ‘But I think it’s only a matter of time before there’s talk of divorce.’
‘Did Frank and Kathleen have any children?’
‘A son. Five years old now. Little Bobbie. Robert is very fond of him. Spoils him really.’
‘Will you tell Robert that I am the father of your baby?’ The question secretly thrilled Michael. He was going to be a father. He was not a sterile mule after all. He was a whole man. Able to father children. And Nora. The chances were that Nora really was his daughter. Not Padraig’s. Praise be to God, he thought. What a happy, happy day. He drank with a greater feeling of elation than he had ever experienced. He felt like getting drunk, but his glass was empty and he wasn’t bold enough to ask for a refill.
‘No, I won’t tell Robert that you are the father of my baby,’ Connie was saying. ‘No need to. He thinks you’re sterile, remember. There’s a man I see in Belfast. Robert will think the baby is his, and I won’t tell him otherwise. Least said, soonest mended, Michael. Don’t worry. He won’t be challenging…
Arrows
excerpt
I stumbled between the lines of stakes, drenched in sweat, weak
in the extreme. Tears streamed down my face, for I couldn’t baptize
them. Benjamin appeared and gave me his hand to support me.
“There is a messenger from the coast, padrecito. The captain sends
word,” he said under his breath. “Your brother.”
I heard the words but didn’t understand them. I touched each of
their foreheads, asked for their forgiveness and counted them.
Baruta was not among them. I touched the brows of twenty-two
caciques and one Indian who had been captive for a year. His name
was Curicurián, and he had impersonated his beloved chief,
Chicuramay, and died in his stead.
Everything went black.
Manolis Aligizakis 