(pronounce HeLa as heh·luh.) Get it?
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HeLa I know that my cancer would be immortal
Yet, here I am, a forgotten soul
My name known only to a few who use me
Know beyond name to only those that knew me
HeLa I know I would be, yet, another Black woman
Exploited for her body
Without consent and
lacking compensation
For the greater good they say
Without any pay
Not for me, but for those that loved me
That is the American way
About the Creator
G. A. Botero
I have a million bad ideas, until a good one surfaces. Poetry, short stories, essays.
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I First Saw Him
When I first saw him sitting on the wall, relaxed and looking out over the water, I was sure he wasn't a local. Not including children, there are only about 250 or 300 of us in this area full-time, though that number is ten-fold in the summer, and I know everyone at least by sight or by family resemblance. And yet, the way he sat looked familiar and started my mind sorting and discarding among the families I knew, not quite like this one, not quite like that one.
By Natalie Wilkinson7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
This is great - though I needed to Google Henrietta lacks.
I wrote this poem on a prompt from Sarah Allatt for a poetry contest on allpoetry.com. I had never heard of Henrietta Lacks before the prompt. I still have much to learn about her, but I know that cancer research, researchers, and survivors owe Henrietta a great debt. Let’s not forget her name. Thank you Henrietta Lacks.
This was very profound and poignant. Well done!