Ireland's OWN Poetry & Prose

wee rolly-polly
—by Clandestine Amadana

Mo mhic beag
showed me an insect, he calls the "rolly-polly"
— an insect, which, for a feeling of safety
curls its wee body up into a roll; it hides inside itself.

i don' even want to know the real name of the creature,
Don't tell me, please...i like the word,
Because sometimes i want to be a rolly-polly
Roll me-self into a wee ball
And pretend nothing can touch me.
Good therapy, 'tis.

Like sometimes

Or sometimes when it feels like Everything is wrong
And i want to have a damn good cry just,
i hold in the tears until mo buachaill-aingeal sleeps,
And then, like a rolly-polly, i curl up inside myself
And let the tears fall.
Good therapy, 'tis.

i know a rolly-polly only thinks it is hidden and safe,
i know one step of a shoe can crush the poor dear.
But if one takes the role of rolly-polly,
One must take on the whole role:
That senseless, oblivious descent into safetysecuritynopain
It comes with the part, you see.

So go on...try it:
Wind up your lithe body, go inside yourself,
'Twill free your mind of Cares and Woes.

When i am wee rolly-polly, i curl up inside a hollow log.
i am alone in there, it is dark and earthy...
And so close to the Beauty that is Pure Nature.
And it always rains — soft, warm, harmonic Rain
Tap-tap-tapping on the log — lullabying my rolly-polly self
Into Peace.
Good therapy, 'tis — I know.