Down in dark dank cellars, Black women are milked commodities. But when a mystical encounter unhinges a docile slave, divine danger rises.

—

On a plantation in the West Indies,
the real harvest is a viscous fluid, salty …. slightly sweet.
Imported ebony bodies made to grind, collude against their will
Black Kings reduced to watching their Queens milked

Masa sits and licks and licks and licks
This succulent carnal delight is entrepreneurial pride
and a rise for his …

There’s one whose juice tantalises the most
But an encounter with something mundane,
from the land carrying her real name
awakens a cosmic rebel ghost

Beat, Beat, Beat drums, suns, daughters eyes wide
Warrior memory rising
Is it enough to turn the colossal colonial tide?

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An original story inspired by the life of Jamaica’s Nanny of the Maroons