The Temptation of St. Anthony, and: Proof Cali, 1966

Abstract

The Temptation of St. Anthony, and: Proof Cali, 1966 Catalina Ocampo Londoño (bio) The Temptation of St. Anthony If we'd known St. Anthony was a woman, the story would've been very different—Bosch struck in us the fear of catfish capable of dismantling a house, or of that herd of jugs gathering in the near distance. * There is a story about the first time my grandmother tried to elope--how she waited at the balcony for my grandfather to wedge nísperos and paper in the recessed niche of her house's dry-stone fence. Whenever my family tells the story of the night she left, they like to insist on the predictable monastery that followed, though I would rather linger on her desire; dark hands breaking a wall of loquat skin, or tending to something with crickets' feet, intent on disrobing its scales. * My grandmother's courage lets me picture it otherwise: two women with goblets around a flat stone in the desert. Whenever they're together it invites the barefoot funnels and the landlocked vessels with their gills. Everything that wants it can have a bat's wing or a letter in its beak. The trees are bringing all their usual gifts; my body still hatching wants to take hold of hers, and lift off with a flock of carp and feathered caravels. [End Page 89] Proof Cali, 1966 We call it la foto de las tres reinas magas— my aunt, my mother, and a friend with legs side-saddle at the stone-edge of a pool. Behind my mother's head a canna lily fans out like a crown, long leafed and exorbitant; of these three queens she'd been the one to offer gold—sure magic for walking through walls. But it's her sister who brings the gift: her line of sight crosses my mother to fall on the friend, pleasure dawning on my aunt's face as if she'd caught the scent of balsam, sweet and aromatic. When all that's left of my aunt's body is lightI want to offer up this photograph as proof through generations in which eyes alone had room to want to reach into the shaded triangle above a woman's thigh. Maybe my aunt had to journey this far to touchthe body desired, to taste its sap, bitter where it slits, but satisfying like a tincture you take because it's good for you, [End Page 90] because it moves the blood or salves the ache of a persistent wound. [End Page 91] Catalina Ocampo Londoño Catalina Ocampo Londoño is a queer writer, educator, and translator, born and raised in Bogotá, Colombia. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Queens University of Charlotte and a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature from Brown University. Her poems, translations, and scholarly work have appeared in Review Magazine, Revista Iberoamericana, and Pterodáctilo, among other publications. She is a Member of the Faculty at the Evergreen State College where she teaches writing, Latin American studies, and Spanish. She currently lives with her sons and partner in Tacoma, WA. Copyright © 2022 Pleiades and Pleiades Press