Fiction | September 01, 1997
That Lamoka Lake Feeling
Barbara Sutton
This story is not currently available online.
My mother carried huge pocketbooks with everything in the world in them but money. When she got a new pocketbook it was a bright new day, cleared up for ship sightings. The old pocketbooks she’d leave stuffed to the hilt just as they were, and they’d wind up somewhere on the floor of the hall closet with the other vinyl and plastic residue of our skinflinted lives.
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?
Subscribe TodaySEE THE ISSUE
SUGGESTED CONTENT
Fiction
Oct 07 2026
Perkoff Prize Winner: Di Nwanne ‘m
Di Nwanne’m Your brother’s name is Mezie. When your older brothers, Idi and Abuchi, fight over who ate the last piece of cocoyam or whose turn it is to… read more
Fiction
Oct 07 2026
Stump
Stump All around downtown Portland, Oregon, pigeons died and more were born. Every hour. Shell-cracking births in the dank crooks of underpasses; grisly deaths under the wheel of a car… read more
Fiction
Oct 07 2026
Hill Station
Hill Station “Arjun!” cries Betha. Two boys come running out of a doorway at them. Betha is wearing a dusty dress. In her hand is a bottle of oil,… read more