Tomorrow, she said, would be better.
Five hundred miles outside of DC
1952
The world's on fire, cover your eyes
The mission director said, "We are a go for launch"
Stand by for terminal countdown
I made my calculations, Nathaniel talked to the press
Mission Control, she's in orbit
The walls are crowded with old memory stills
I, in my flight suit, Nathaniel holding a punch card
Thirty years later, it still makes me laugh
To have and to hold
I can number his spine
Stand by for terminal countdown
I live in the middle of space
With punchcards and magnetic tape
After it runs
I will make an eagle and let my husband fly.
When you could see them
The stars were glorious
If you could see them
The stars are glorious
© 2017