Brooke Forbes

Little Russian dolls emulate worlds within worlds, fitting quite perfectly, into an overarching narrative.

I think of this as I reflect on my two worlds: Newcastle and Mparntwe, or is Newcastle a fading memory, and Mparntwe now my home. 

The landscape transcend themselves:

Salt bush to buffel,

Sand to red dirt,

Coastal banksias to smooth-barked ghost gums,

Rupturing waves to softly swilling waterholes.

I think of home when in Mparntwe and Mparntwe when I’m home. 

So I’m wondering, 

if this silken transition carries weight,

or if I can be on two places at the same time,

surrounded by the desert one moment and waves the next.  

These world within worlds define me, 

move me, 

make me. 

They carry what was and what’s going to happen next. 

A future and a past,

overlapping, 

carried inside each other.

Perfectly imperfect,

a crescendo of might and matter,

one moment red dust, the next salt air.