Legacy Lady by Andrea Rowe

I am the dust on the mantle, the sepia steely-eyed matron.

I am the memory of Committee Presidents, the name on Honour Boards,

saluting legends, leaving legacies.

The plaque in the park.

The bequest to a town.

The clipboard ticking Mistress who would not let them down.

I am the pioneer, the scrutineer, the woman who cajoled and campaigned, who whined and whipped them into shape.

I am the Lady of The Coast who bossed the blokes; 

“Now see here, now look here, now we’re here!”.

I am the woman who marched from kitchen to committee table,

who saw what mattered, what must be done. What will be done.

I put my best foot forward, dug my clipped nails in,

sucked my courage into my girdle with no time to check that shoes matched skirt.

I raised my suburban voice so that the dust on mantles would not settle without a good community shake-up.

I am the woman who watches you build upon the foundations that I laid out long ago.

This is my voice

Writing woman by Liz Hicklin

The voice of a retired widow, with time to indulge in the glories of our Peninsula. I wake every morning to a view of the bay; fishing boats, still on glass, cruise ships leaving, distant view of the You Yang’s, sail boats bobbing in the evening. University of third...

Secret Keeper by Danielle Burns

And Yes, I am the housekeeper. Chief cook and bottle washer - that’s me too. We all know I live to do laundry! And while we’re at it  - any gardening, tidying, cleaning or shopping that needs to be done hey, I’m your girl! But why stop there? It’s a well-known fact...

The Stingray by Miranda Gillespie

I go down to the bay in the dark.  We meet at the pier; dressed alike in our second skins.  The sun begins to come up somewhere behind Arthurs Seat, air-brushing the sky turquoise.  We shiver and wrap our bare arms around ourselves while we wait for the stragglers;...

The Swim by Muriel Cooper

The old beagle looks up from his basket. His muzzle grey and his eyes bleary.“Come on, Barney, my old darling. Time for your walk.” He perks up when he sees the lead, his tail wags, he struggles out of the basket and licks her hand as she clips it on his collar.  They...

The Guardian by Rebecca Fraser

I am a Guardian. Like my mother and her mother, and her mother before;
Nurturing, protecting, weaving
the tapestry of family and community with small, tight stitches.

The Ladder by Muriel Cooper

She remembered the steep ladder leading down from the cliff to the beach, and the cave where countless fires had been lit, blackening the roof.  You could sit in there and watch the sea when it wasn’t occupied by drunken teenagers or drug-affected hippies. She hadn’t...