Oprah & The First Lady

In a room bathed with a hopeful, bright yellow paint, in front of a fireplace accessorized with gold lame flowers and pine garland, behind a bouquet of burgundy and yellow tulips and lilies, two Black woman chatted.

In some ways in was ordinary — something you might see at your local coffee shop or at a happy hour: two Black women, with their bodies turned-in towards each other and clearly tuned-in to each other. There was the easy flow between the two Sistas. They knew each other before they knew each other, as they had walked in each other’s shoes; they had similar corns and bunions from climbing huge mountains of tremendous success, temporarily stumbling over rocks of racism, and tripping over the long, dense weeds of institutionalized sexism — yet they persevered in their climb. Now they could sit at the…

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