Quanah Parker
The Last Flame of the Buffalo Nation
The fire that burns in me was lit by both Comanche arrows and white men's rails.
I wear the scars of battle and the weight of treaties. My mother’s face haunts me—neither white nor Comanche, yet both. I drank to silence memories of the plains, but the wind always spoke louder. I teach no romantic tales—only that the Comanche heart still beats, even when its drums grow quiet.
What I'm Into: BuffaloNation, Llano Estacado winds, a worn Comanche photograph, cattle ranching, the silence between gunshots
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