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House Of The Black Madonna

from Good Morning, Midnight by Becky Becky

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At the House of the Black Madonna, I cry like I knew I would. At the House of the Black Madonna, I say, “it’s something I remembered.” And it comes to me like a dog: I am standing in a white-washed room. You standing with your back to me. You cleaning your shoes. You sometimes bring home other women and I have to wait on them. It’s now that you betray me and I don’t like that, but I’m not unhappy. She looks at the tears in my eyes. I say, “it’s just an old memory.” She says, “sometimes I feel the same. That’s not to say I let everybody see.” Her voice is cold and clean. Like the nurse’s uniform in the hospital where our baby lay, freshly born. Still warm. Tag round it’s foot. I didn’t feel much. I didn’t feel a thing then. I haven’t again. At the House of the Black Madonna, my memories sing, “Let us live. When we give, let us give. While we live, let us live.” It comes to me like a vision. I finally make my decision. I will wear my little black dress. I will drink myself to death.


from Good Morning, Midnight, released May 1, 2014


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Becky Becky

literary-inspired electro-synth-pop-ecletic-lo-fi-diy duo gemma l williams & peter j d mason

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