Dusk at Julian Rocks
by Emily Younkin
This piece is inspired by Aboriginal legend of Julian Rocks (Nguthungulli) from the Bundjalung (Arakwal) people of northern New South Wales, Australia
The town is twilight, the lighthouse must be heaven, and the stars are opening to a different page
with the same scratched writing. Two beings lay entangled with each other on the grass, for the
whole town to see. The town cares not to look. Across the bay, two rocks scrabble to touch the
air above the water’s surface. Twin peaks, the old people of this land call them lovers. Lovers
who nearly tasted freedom before the Elders split apart their canoe for daring to love and leave.
Lovers who were turned into stone, side by side, so they could always be together. The couple in
the grass are faceless, the fragile skin of their cheeks turned tight into the folds of each other’s
clothes. With no one watching, they have turned to rock. Sculptures, prone on the ground,
holding nothing but each other. Their world is the sound of waves beating the shore and the
gentle sanctity of each other’s stony breaths. Two by two, the passersby disappear onto
sidewalks of irrelevance. The night chills, and the lovers hold each other’s lifeless fingers. They
care not to move. They are in love. Across the water, the motionless rocks lean against one
another. They have seen this before. On and on, someone loves themselves into obsoletion.
Click to see Emily’s work in the Spring ‘23 and Spring ‘24 issues