The Art of Breathing

I was never taught, 
How to cry.
When I felt the sea,
Escaping my lungs.
I was told-
“Breathe in.”
My mother never held my hand, 
When a stubborn tear, 
departed my left eye.
My father stared at me-
“I thought you were a strong girl.”
I never learnt how to cry. 
Be tough, daughter.
Be sound, be wild. 
Breathe in, breathe in. 
Breathe. It. In.
But I can’t fill my lungs,
Just a little more.
Until, 
I am mothering my heart.
And playing father,
To my bones. 
I am holding the child in me,
And with terrifyingly slow pace,
I tell her,
B  r  e  a  t  h  e    O  u  t.