Casey Reiland
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caseyreiland.bsky.social
Casey Reiland
@caseyreiland.bsky.social
330 followers 300 following 340 posts
Bad sleeper | In search of the perfect bagel | Words in HAD, trampset, On the Seawall, and elsewhere

www.caseyreiland.com
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caseyreiland.bsky.social
Employer: What can we give you this holiday season as a thank you for all the hard work you’ve done this year?
Employees: Ooo a bonus, a raise, more time off—
Employer: OKAY SELF-CARE TIPS IT IS!
An excerpt of an email that reads: “The holiday season can be a time of celebration and joy, but it can also be demanding. Between family gatherings, travel, financial considerations, and year-end stress, it's easy to feel overwhelmed. It is also easy to become so focused on others that we neglect our own feelings and needs. It's important to regularly check in with yourself. To support your mental and emotional well-being during this season, our Employee Assistance Program (EAP) has compiled a Holiday Resource Guide (attached). The Holiday Resource Guide provides: Simple ways to manage holiday stress Tips for setting boundaries and finding balance Support for coping with loneliness or burnout Self-care ideas Info on how to reach your EAP for free, confidential support”
November 21, 2025 at 12:13 AM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
I’m late to the game, but I’m reading A SWIM IN A POND IN THE RAIN for a book club, and this may be the best craft book I’ve ever read. Funny, approachable, and actually makes you feel like George Saunders loves to write. Hell, I might even end up reading more Russian literature after this!
The book A SWIM IN A POND IN THE RAIN by George Saunders sitting on a white blanket. A hand with purple nail polish holds one corner of the cover.
November 9, 2025 at 10:18 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
When this hits your submittable page 🥹🥹🥹
Green box from Submittable that says “Accepted”
November 4, 2025 at 10:48 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
I have two new poems published today in @emergejournal.bsky.social! Read em here: emergeliteraryjournal.com/the-connecti...
The Connection The space between the sternum and the slope of flesh says so much. Here, a quarter, shiny like macadam in the morning sun, now thrown at her chest. A boy says, Look at how it slides right over her middle. Boarded, flat, fabled. This too a fable: Lavender. Tea tree oil. How many times have I written about what my body could not give? Instead, consider my grandmother, her torso gaping like mine. My sister insists we inherited our breasts from her, and I’ll admit this once would have split me of resentment— girl who wants to take up space, who wants to be enclosed perfectly into someone’s fist. Always myself witnessed in another’s eyes, a mark, a haunting, ruptured ribs in the canyons of their irises. But in my grandmother’s ripening, I now behold how we are bound, hanging on to what we still can, cupping the curves of each other’s hands. The thing we contain: a sphere of silver, spinning like a coin. I Said I Would Never Write About 2020 My coworker asks, “Wanna hear something funny?” and describes how he was hit by a car. I find his indifference to the ruthlessness of our job equivalent to the shock that comes from salt stinging a wound: a searing white space. Me: “Aren’t you ever angry?” Him___. When we fuck later, a barren plain glaciates between us. If I’m being honest, I mostly wanted to sleep with him because he is ___ years older than me. Age specifically has a distance. So does trauma. I’m afraid of driving because I’ve been in a car that spun into a cornfield. I was thirteen. My friend’s older sister was driving us to a Halloween party. The coarse dying stalks revolved yellow-green-yellow in my vision, and all I could think was, I’m going to___. In the mornings after the world has shut down, there goes the yellow-green-yellow-green in my mind. I text my one friend, What if one of us___? How do___? I’m so___. Later, my roommate reprimands me for almost wearing sandals to a protest at the White House. When the tear gas blooms a sulfur mist, I let their shaming engulf my legs as we run, grateful to have someone unafraid in their bluntness. I tell my mother what happens, and she says, ______. My coworker insists he only wants my body, and I let him have it because this is the year where I cough up shards of ice, where inside my mouth is a killing frost.
October 8, 2025 at 6:00 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
Also this isolation is what women have been dealing with and trying to raise awareness about for basically all of time when they decide to become a parent because of *waves hand* society. But somehow this dude puts it in a different gender context and it gets published in the NYT.
Then we had our first child. I had made the decision to be a stay-at-home dad, with the idea that I'd squeeze in my writing early in the morning and after bedtime. This meant that I'd have even less time to see my friends, but I didn't mind. Being a new dad and having vast meadows of time to bond with my son was exhilarating. After a while, though, the repetitiveness of our routines - playground, park, the other playground — began to take a toll on me. I was spending all day in my own head or uttering monosyllables, and I slowly became aware of a strange new feeling: For the first time in my life, I was lonely.
May 30, 2025 at 11:25 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
Sure, this is a conversation that needs to be had, but then you get to the Joe Rogan jump scare
Excerpt from NYT: “In late 2018, I found something that finally resonated. And I found it on — alas - "The Joe Rogan Experience." Let me just say, when you go down any podcast rabbit hole, you are more or less algorithmically guaranteed to end up listening to Joe Rogan. And while many of his ideas made me wince, I found myself spellbound by his..”
May 30, 2025 at 11:25 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
For the evening crowd, I have a new poem up at @garlicpresslit.bsky.social! It’s about my existential crisis regarding parenting, ya know, casual stuff. Check it out below! 🧄

www.garlicpresslit.com/issues/issue...
Ilium My sister asks me if I’m planning to procreate in a way that suggests I shouldn’t: salty, stinging, heavy— like the ocean we are floating in. A child on the shore plays with a baby doll in the sand. Just the other day, it was 60 degrees in Antarctica, and I was so angry I wanted the penguins to trill, Fuck you, and slither belly down from all us humans into the sea. The child waves the meaty plastic arms of the doll, and I haven’t answered my sister’s question. My love is optimistic: The earth will change, but we will acclimate. Others say the opposite: We will become extinct, and little organisms will survive and renew under our cells. There is something hopeful about both theories. We perennate or become silky wraiths in the soil. I wonder if I want a baby because it’s what is expected of me, like the child pressing the doll to her chest, like how my sister and I would stuff Cabbage Patch Kids up our shirts, sprawl on our bedroom carpet, and slide their chunky bodies from our clothes. Nothing is certain except life is always making or breaking, making or breaking. My legs pump in the water, my pelvis slightly cracking, and I don’t say that I’m afraid, even though it’s true my bones will soften when a tiny cranium crests through my ilium, the pain surrendering to that punctured cry, the fury at the world alive in that first breath.
April 30, 2025 at 9:42 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
Thank you so much to @garlicpresslit.bsky.social for publishing this poem of mine! Did you know your bones soften when you go into labor? Wild!!!

www.garlicpresslit.com/issues/issue...
The Ilium My sister asks me if I’m planning to procreate in a way that suggests I shouldn’t: salty, stinging, heavy— like the ocean we are floating in. A child on the shore plays with a baby doll in the sand. Just the other day, it was 60 degrees in Antarctica, and I was so angry I wanted the penguins to trill, Fuck you, and slither belly down from all us humans into the sea. The child waves the meaty plastic arms of the doll, and I haven’t answered my sister’s question. My love is optimistic: The earth will change, but we will acclimate. Others say the opposite: We will become extinct, and little organisms will survive and renew under our cells. There is something hopeful about both theories. We perennate or become silky wraiths in the soil. I wonder if I want a baby because it’s what is expected of me, like the child pressing the doll to her chest, like how my sister and I would stuff Cabbage Patch Kids up our shirts, sprawl on our bedroom carpet, and slide their chunky bodies from our clothes. Nothing is certain except life is always making or breaking, making or breaking. My legs pump in the water, my pelvis slightly cracking, and I don’t say that I’m afraid, even though it’s true my bones will soften when a tiny cranium crests through my ilium, the pain surrendering to that punctured cry, the fury at the world alive in that first breath.
April 30, 2025 at 5:20 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
Evil TERF lady losing her mind over people just living their lives & being happy in their bodies, meanwhile she could be pissed about things that actually affect people, like the fact that Logan airport sells A SANDWICH for $22
A sign with the headings “Sandwiches” and “Salads” and each food item under the meaning in prove from $19.55-$22.99
April 19, 2025 at 1:51 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
How many times can I reject Microsoft’s AI update? The answer is there is no limit
A picture of a Microsoft word document open with a notification on top that says, “Close this app to update.” A subheading underneath reads, “Click Continue to quit ‘Microsoft Word’ and complete the update.” Below that subheading are two buttons. One is gray and says, “Cancel.” And the other is blue and says, “Continue.”
January 30, 2025 at 1:35 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
I’m reading Stephen King’s IT for the first time and am so taken with his description of children. Their quirks and idiosyncrasies are so real and absolutely delightful! Just look at this—
From a page from Stephen King’s IT: “This boy, whose name was either Frankie or Freddy Ross (ot maybe Roth), had been out prospecting for goodies with a gadget of his own invention, which he called THE FABULOUS GUM-STICK. When he talked about it you could tell he thought about it like that, in capital letters (and maybe neon, as well). THE FABULOUS GUM-STICK was a birch branch with a big wad of bubble-gum stuck on the tip. In his spare time Freddy (or Frankie) walked around Derry with it, peering into sewers and drains. Sometimes he saw money —pennies mostly, but sometimes a dime or even a quarter (he referred to these latter, for some reason known only to him, as "quay-monsters"). Once the money was spotted, Frankie-or-Freddy and THE FABULOUS GUM-STICK would swing into action. One downward poke through the grating and the coin was as good as in his pocket.”
December 21, 2024 at 10:04 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
If you were a villain who would you be?

The amount of times I sing “Little Girls” on a daily basis, whew, what a banger.
Miss Hannigan from the movie Annie (1982) standing in a doorway with her arms out in a purple dress.
November 11, 2024 at 12:09 AM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
Update:
A bowl of spicy beef noodle soup with bok choy.
September 1, 2024 at 12:01 AM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
Thesis ✨defended✨
A piece of paper held down by two rocks that reads, “OUTEN THE LIGHTS: STORIES by Casey Reiland A thesis submitted to the MFA Program and the University of Wyoming in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of MFA in Creative Writing May 2024”
April 2, 2024 at 3:11 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
Winter break reads ✨
Three books stacked on top of one another: SPACEMAN OF BOHEMIA by Jaroslav Kalfař LITTLE EYES by Samanta Schweblin THINGS WE LOST IN THE FIRE by Mariana Enriquez
December 13, 2023 at 2:36 AM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
If you need a chuckle this morning:

Teaching my students how to write vividly. Had them write down three rich descriptions they could use. Here’s one that one of them posted.
Three answers with the third one circled that states, “yanked us out of that lake like a wife did when she caught her cheating husband at a bar with his secretary.”
November 15, 2023 at 3:57 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
Close up of tabby car with a scrunched up face, eyes blank as a void.
November 11, 2023 at 5:37 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
Shaun King just called me and told me that Gretchen thinks I’m mad at her because she’s running for Spring Fling Queen, but he worked behind the scenes so that everyone would get a piece of the crown.
A three cut split of Cady from the movie Mean Girls saying, “I mean, it’s just plastic. Could really just…” and snapping a plastic crown in half. Bottom clip featuring Damien gasping.
October 26, 2023 at 1:30 AM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
At a writing retreat being watched; don’t text.
A picture of a sculpture that has a head of a crow and the body of a woman. Sitting on top of a black coffee table. In the background, more sculptures of people doing handstands.
October 18, 2023 at 9:14 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
It’s aspen season, folks. 🍂😍
Hiking in southern Wyoming: a dirt trail with a black dog. In the distance, a row of golden aspen trees. A gorgeous fall day: blue skies and bright yellow aspen trees close up.
September 30, 2023 at 11:52 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
New Richard Siken ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! @eldiagram.bsky.social
New Richard Siken poem called “Pornography.” (It won’t let me post the whole poem in the alt text!)
August 31, 2023 at 7:31 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
Good mornin’, what song should I make up next about my cat?
A brown tabby sitting on a windowsill, giving the look of “What song are you gonna throw my name into today, boss?”
August 17, 2023 at 4:06 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
I truly can’t believe I never heard of this book until a month ago. Totally my jam. And the cover!!! 📚
Cover of Slade House by David Mitchell
August 12, 2023 at 4:41 PM
caseyreiland.bsky.social
Finally saw Oppenheimer, and the fact that the a-bomb was in this kid’s hands:
Josh Peck in Drake and Josh doing his classic “Megan” face.
August 12, 2023 at 2:37 AM