“I’m aggravated,” Mama said so much,
a pet might have assumed it as a name.
The woman was impatient, filled with such
an antsy energy, there never came
a respite when we knew she was content.
It seemed she never settled back or laughed.
It didn’t matter where the family went;
my mom found fault as if it were her craft.

I later learned a body cannot be
a source of aggravation – that’s a word
pertaining to conditions. Not for me
is aggravation – saying so’s absurd.
It’s irritation that’s the ill I make,
and I’m resolved to leave it in my wake.