A LADY WALKS IN AS I’M LEAVING, AND Pause. “Am I … where I am supposed to be?” Petite, the pastel-two-pieced figure bars My exit, eyeing me confusèdly And blushing as it dawns on her she errs In one of two both-mortifying ways. I muster my most womanliest smile And, firmly unoffended, meet her gaze: “I know! We’re used to queuing!” I freestyle. She breathes relief. I take my person out The unambiguously coded door – As order mollifies her nagging doubt – And lose the mask. I shrug it off, secure In my admission by the status quo; But every body needs some where to go. Carolyn Whitnall, 2019. I’m cautious to write about gender because I don’t want to seem to weigh in on matters that are outside of my comfortably protected (cis female) experience. But one thing I do know a bit about is anxiety, and I see a lot of it (especially among Christians) in response to increasing societal awareness and embrace of gender diversity beyond the assigned sex binary. Every now a