Legacy Lady

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