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Sunstrike

Margaret Moores

 

Dolphins leap in the bay as dawn breaks over the Coromandel. I pause to watch
their dark muscled shapes in the waves until the sun becomes an incandescent
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flare and a blinding afterglow burns orange and green behind my eyes. In the quiet
morning streets, I push my body on through air like cooling water until the colours
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recede and I can see again; unlike my mother, who believing she had sunstrike,
stopped her car and waited while a blurring hole formed in the macula of one eye.
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All summer she noted browned grass on the street berms, dull leaves on trees
and talked of drought as colours began to melt away. When I call to describe
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the dolphins, she reminds me to look after my eyes. Becalmed behind wooden fences,
overlooked by curtained windows in slowly fading suburbia, she mourns for the sea.

 

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Permanent link to this article: http://4thfloorjournal.co.nz/contents-2016/margaret-moores/sunstrike/