for all the women who thought they were Mad

they like to see us fall to slip on branches full of fruit we have not tasted

Lately, it’s small things. Pop songs. The radio. Every day, anguish becomes madness. Call on your family. Call on the ancestors. Can they guide you home?

we are pearl and earth and root we know ourselves to be natural and complete carved from rock that floats but we should still be careful what we wish for some of us can sink in the upstream

for all the women who thought they were Mad is an urgent piece of theatre examining the myriad of forces that collide and conspire against women of colour in Britain today.