"Dear NASA" by Hannah Star Rogers
I met you for the first time in Huntsville
in the 6th grade and all I remember was one father’s
suggestion that some of the adults on the overstaffed
overnighter could skip the rocket-shaped chicken and take
lunch at Hooters. Now my students are begging me to bring
them to you. Wallops Island is not so far from the
geese-wintering refuge, so the scorched earth your private
enterprise left on our collective property seems like
a good lesson. The surprise is the flight director, Lyndi,
about my age, who presses her tortoise-shell headband
into her temples as the field trip coordinator says,
the professor would like you to tell them about the day
of the accident. The students leaned forward, but I lean back
away from the badge dangling over her elbow when
shyness crosses her arms.
Illustration by Megan Llewellyn
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