for all the women who thought they were Mad

they like to see us fallto slip on branches full of fruit we have not tastedLately 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 rootwe know ourselves to be natural and completecarved from rock that floatsbut we should still be careful what we wish forsome of us can sink in the upstreamfor 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.