A search that found me. I thought about someone wanting to know something about integrity. Not just a definition, but what would be happening to them that integrity was a question. I thought of a non-thief thief. Why? This is her prose poem:
I’m not sure any more what integrity is. I know it isn’t writing a blog while you are at work. I know it isn’t spending your time waiting. I know it isn’t needing someone else to tell you what is right. This morning, I found a littel doll with a scuffed up face on the sidewalk outside my apartment. Was it intergrity that made me pick it up, put it in my truck, and drive? Who was I to save her, she was not mine. One day, with shower water pelting down upon our scalps, you told me that my personal life was no longer mine. You had shared it in order to save a friend. Thats when I knew I’d never be important again. This doll, left in the cold, face scuffed, she is me I’m saving.