My face, your face, millions of faces in morning’s mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper — bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives — to teach geometry, or ring up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.

All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the “I have a dream” we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won’t explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.

One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father’s cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.

The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind — our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day’s gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.

Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across cafe tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos dias
in the language my mother taught me — in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.

One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.

One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn’t give what you wanted.

We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always — home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country — all of us –
facing the stars
hope — a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it — together

After 10 months of hospital and doctors visits not to mention courts, Joshhy has reached some of his goals.. He has a full time job, he begins college in a few days, and he will be moving into his own place. He may need more surgery on his arm in a few months, but he is doing great. He still needs surgery on his ear as he has permanent damage to it and reduced hearing.

It’s been a 10 month learning and growing experience for him. He is definitely not the same young man he was a year ago. Today he is confident and stronger and more positive than ever. He has set goals and is gradually reaching them. When asked how he is doing.. he responds “I’m alive” with a smile.

Joshua Harrison
hey if any one wants to do anything nice for some one u don’t know i am going to try to send a caple care packages out this week to solders overs seas if any one would like to add anything or donate anything let me know anything helps even if u want to do a letter who knows they may wright back lets make some one Christmas special they do so much for us this is the least we can do

With Christmas time and all of the other winter holidays approaching … everyone seems to get more generous and sometimes we are looking for a place that really NEEDS your help.   There are millions of ‘charities’ out there. Some are real and do help but many are rip offs.  I have found 2 that are genuine and really help those who need it.  And… they are in your community.

The First and one of the most important but most frequently overlooked… are the  Shriners Hospitals.  This is a group of hospitals that cares for children around the country. Each hospital specializes in one area.  The local Shriners specializes in orthopedic care for children.  They provide all care necessary and don’t charge for their services.  They will take insurances if you have them, but if not, your child is not refused care.

The Second and also over looked many times are the Ronald McDonald Houses.  These houses provide a place to stay for families who have brought their child to a hospital that is a distance from their homes.  Tampa has 8 of theses houses.

Both of these are real groups of people who help families and children that are in need of care.   If you really want to help someone that really needs it.. please consider one of both of these!!