Aunt Beulah’s Baptist Dunking

By Tanya Young

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On a hot Saturday morning 
Aunt Sugar packs us all up 
Into her long green 1959 Pontiac 
July whipping through the windows

Four children squirm in the back seat
When Aunt Beulah suddenly shouts
She sees Jesus in the light of 
The passenger seat mirror 

We pull up to the tiny
Hebron Baptist Church
Two Magnolia trees, large and proud
Framing a much-used white tent

There’s Aunt Snookie with her 
Dyed too-black hair
Wildly haloing her shoulders 
Clip-on earrings hanging like purple grapes

Close beside her is Cousin Zippo
In his bulging tight pants 
With a little James Brown swagger
He helps us with our picnic basket

In the stale summer heat
The preacher gathers us all up 
For a short walk to Croatan Sound
To give us a taste of what is holy

Along the path dripping 
With hanging grey moss 
I spot a snake in its sleeve of heat
Eye-slits ajar taking a good look

Now, we are all Methodists
Used to a little sprinkling 
And this dunking business is all new
But Aunt Beulah insists she needs it

The preacher leads Aunt Beulah to the water
She holds her nose and back she goes 
For the cold immersion
New Testament words flung over the water

Aunt Beulah’s skirt bellows like a blowfish
Her feet start kicking like she might drown
She hovers a little above the earth
Even flies a little—a single blurred moment

But by her own strength she pops up 
Coughing spitting gasping cursing
You SOB,  that was too long
You about drowned me, Aunt Beulah shouts

Aunt Sugar quickly gathers us all up
We take off running—Kicking it into high gear
Cousin Zippo close to busting his pants 
Aunt Snooki’s hair bringing up the rear

We snatch up our deviled eggs
Corn and still-warm fried chicken
Cover it with tinfoil and the 
Un-reborn Methodists scatter for home

We leave the lemon pound cake 
That sunny yellow circle 
Its center missing like a mouth leaking 
Bless your heart

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Tanya Young spent most of her life in North Carolina and is currently retired and writing poetry in Sarasota, Florida. She says, "I do think you have to take what comes to you and write it. Take your heart out for a ride—take your experiences and pack them into a poem offering the magic and mysterious power of storytelling with words that surprise you, move you, heal you."

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