Still, she knew she would get on the bus. Like Innana, the goddess of sex and war, the goddess who had been turned into a corpse by her dark sister in the Underworld, the goddess who had been hung out to dry like meat, Rachel had no way to get off the hook.
I stare at the electrified Poseidon, I stare at him imploringly because I don’t know what he wants. I haven’t the faintest idea of what has got into his head. And my Father the revolutionary, the guerrilla, clutches his ear, forms it into a trumpet with his hand and aims it at a sound I am only now beginning to hear.