Dear Readers,

When we launched Waterwheel Review, we were keen to explain why we were so moved and motivated by the image of the waterwheel. Water stands for language, an ever flowing, renewable source; the waterwheel, an engine of labor, circles through, lifting words and then dropping them back into the running stream. Our magazine is a mill, we said, where the waterwheel powers writing and publishing. “We want—and need—to make things.”

For a couple of years, now, we have known that we can’t make enough of our own things while we give so much energy to the work of others. We have had to cut substantially the time and attention devoted to our own writing, and mostly we have been glad to do it, determined to find a way to repay our own work in the end. We never did find that way.

If we could quit our jobs and earn that income publishing this magazine, we would take that deal in an instant. But that’s not the world we live in. For many, many months we have known this, but we couldn’t accept it until now. And thank goodness for that.

Every single issue of this magazine has been a wonder that transported and enchanted us. We can’t say we gloried in every moment. We read or edited or built the site at times while sick, exhausted, grieving—that’s the nature of any publication. But we damn well gloried in every word, every paired image and sound.

Four years and thirty-six issues: What an honor to publish our contributors. What a privilege to offer stunning work to our readers. We must use the word pleasure, too, always rolled out to accompany “honor and privilege,” but pleasure isn’t strong enough, nor is gratitude nor joy nor blessing. For once we find ourselves at a loss for words to express precisely what it has meant to keep this waterwheel turning.

Maybe this will do it: How many times does anyone ever fully achieve the glittering, half-glimpsed vision floating above; that winking, flirting piece of art we ache to manifest? For the three of us, precisely this once.

We will keep making things and so will you. We started this magazine with the image of the waterwheel and a Jean Rhys quote, and we will end in the same way, as we thank you for reading and submitting, and wish you and yours all the very best:

Listen to me. All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. And there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don’t matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake.

—Claire, Suzanne, Cheryl

September 1, 2024: Waterwheel Review will stay online for the foreseeable future. It remains as it looked for the final June 2024 issue.

Gerald Yelle

The Mood Begins to Shift

by Gerald Yelle

April 2024

You wouldn’t know what lies can do to an elephant tusk. Have you ever had a sore tusk? It’s like being the Cyclops and Odysseus is driving a red-hot poker through your one and only eye, so you won’t see through his lies anymore. You hear your brain sizzle and pop. Not killing nerves so they wind up numb—but plucking and stretching them beyond their limits then snapping them back so the pain can stretch them out again. You don’t black out either—the noise won’t let you. There’s a throb. There’s a panting for breath. There’s an opening in the blowhole you can chew your way into so the Ahabs who bring the food and dress your wound can climb aboard and not be swallowed by temptation. You end up believing their lies even when they put their pox on you. Their drums crunch like hammers. You feel your tusk shatter and reassemble so the whole process can repeat itself ad infinitum. They had something like it in Dante’s inferno. That and too much silence. And time. You’re anxious for the next big lie: the one saying it’s no coincidence mother and monster both start with m. And both have t’s and e’s. What are we supposed to think? Is there a video that shows the transformation? Will you have what you need going forward? Is there forward here? Is there up in the air? At some point you stop asking and listen. Liars can tell how long you’ve been listening. It’s never long enough for them. Don’t come back if you want to know the truth.

Gerald Yelle’s books include The Holyoke Diaries, Mark My Word and the New World Order, and Dreaming Alone and with Others. His chapbooks include No Place I Would Rather Be and A Box of Rooms. He lives in Amherst, Massachusetts, and is a member of the Florence Poets Society.