Heather Christle, poet

I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook. Currently it's trending toward hate, but then I take a quick look and stumble on something lovely. Like this poem, which actually appeared on Twitter ☛, which I rarely look at, or at least I don't get into such a scrolling mood with it, because I follow so many people--well, 520, which isn't all that many people, but it's still harder to parse, because of retweets and comments and threads and I don't even know what-all. But I am now following two new poets there. 

Anyway, here is a poem by Heather Christle (who comments in that Twitter thread, "Being married to me is Fun probably"):

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In the morning I drink
coffee until I can see
a way to love life
again. It's okay, there's
no difference between
flying and thinking
you're flying until
you land. Somehow
I own like six nail clippers
and I honestly can't
remember ever buying
even one. My sister
came to visit and
saw them in a small
wooden bowl. I
heard her laughing in
the bathroom. I hope
she never dies. There's
no harm in hoping
until you land.
The deer are awake.
Is one pregnant?
If they kept diaries
the first entry would
read: Was born
Was licked
Tried walking
Then they'd walk
away and no second
entry would ever exist.
I run the deer's
archive. It's very
light work. Visitors
must surrender
their belongings.
Surrender to me
your beautiful shirt.