A Salve for Every Sore

Louise E. Allin, a poet and short-story writer, is also an English instructor at Cambrian College.

Bulmer’s first book celebrates the mysteries of the Prairies and the
rich tapestry of its peoples. While her chronicler, Marie, the
grocer’s daughter, is adept at narrative in her depictions of her
family and neighbors, she is equally adroit at sweeping across the
landscape, as in “Blades.” There is a hint of Edgar Lee Masters,
W.O. Mitchell, and even Sherwood Anderson in powerful portraits such as
“Stump”: “His hand was once a wild bird / caught in his own
threshing machine. / Fingers flew like pink feathers.”

The author’s imagery is sharp and fresh, whether describing
“Soup” (“Mother’s wooden spoon is / a slow tongue. She offers .
. . fine onion-clippings, / slim-fingered carrots, / potato slivers like
broken teeth”) or watching Marie seeking a charm for her Métis lover:
“She snips a hank of my hair, tamps it inside the moist head of a
sparrow . . . I’ll wear it till next bloodstain, or till I smell
lust.”

The title is derived from the nostrums of the visiting “Quack”:
“A dime for a little drum of miracle lard.” Bulmer’s book is a
little miracle in itself.