They live in the cloud forests. Why would they come down? Margay. Manigordo. The arboreal cats. With dark markings around their eyes, applied like liner. Long legs tossed like scarves around branches. Lounging, they drop their lids. Drippingly, they lift their limbs. Like juveniles. Manigordo—it’s not wrong to give an ocelot a name that translates to fat paws. To call an exotic animal girlish. They are like girls, all their lives looking as if they’re still growing into their feet, with all their rare certainty, above threat in the trees. With all their endangered beauty. You do not know it’s ending, in that time when you remain beautiful.
Rose McLarney | In Proportion Contents | Mudlark No. 51 (2013)