Pte San Win Little Whiteman

Pte San Win Little Whiteman is an Oglala Lakota poet who uses poetry for advocacy and healing. Most of their poetry highlights mental health awareness, environmental, racial, and social justice, land/body relationships, and language revitalization. They are Brave New Voices alumni and have experience performing on stages such as The Kennedy Center, Native Pop, Black Hills Artist Market, and Poetry Out Loud. They were interviewed for Teen Vogue and Indian Country Today, and they won a publication with the Tribal College Journal for AIHEC's creative writing contest in August 2023. Pte San Win is a youth coordinator for NDN Girls Book Club and has experience facilitating writing workshops, poetry slams, and open mics. They hope to inspire others to read, write, and perform poetry as it is an act of oral & aural tradition. A practice that has kept many cultures alive today.

Be The Muse For Once - Published in Tribal College Journal August 2023


Have you ever noticed the way your fingers fidget between lined journal paper,

and do you know about the glow you radiate,

before you perform a piece?


Does the excitement begin when you’re writing a poem,

or when your palms meet mic and stand,

and is it scary?

  • the excitement.


Is it exhausting being a poet?

To find the caramel in a traumatic moment,

and to find a purpose in the mundane.


I know the burdens of carrying an anchor in a dried up sea,

and trying to find the blooming roses in the caves of forgotten dreams.


The ache to have a poem written about you,

for you,

creeps in the walls and sleeps in the attics of our homes,

and we’re left to wonder if it’s shy,

  • or here to haunt us.


We are the poets, the hopeless romantics,

we are the romanticized lovers,

who write about our partners perfect imperfections,

or how the trees smile when we sing to ourselves on an afternoon stroll,

but no one talks about the bones in a sack,

on a rack in the backrooms of wondering what it’s like to be the topic of a poem.


What a thrill it would be to have a poem dedicated for you,

I want to know how the ocean carefully carries seashells to the seashores,

so that my feet can stumble upon them and my fingers can caress the edges,

of a metaphorical seashell of your wildest desires.


The wondrous curiosity of,

what you think the autumn skies whisper about,

when my back is turned,

and if the leaves blush when they turn red.


This poem is for the poets,

who forget to breathe when writing stanzas,

of a moment,

so precious,

an image would taint.


This is for the ones who,

stare at the night sky while the stars swim,

in the abyss of their pupils.


The ones who keep their favourite poems,

in a box with a lock,

under their beds,

so that they’d feel the security of having it read. 


I want to taste the burdens from the tears and sweat,

that pours out as you finish that final line.


Make my way into your arms so that I could embrace,

your collapse.


I know what it’s like to only have the comfort,

of a pen and paper,

a laptop keyboard clicking,

and a thesaurus to try and find the right word,

for what you’re feeling.


Let me help you find shelter between the similes and metaphors,

because maybe,

for once,

we can breathe.


We can build a garden of our favourite fruits,

from the labors we endured,

make jelly sandwiches with the dandelions,

and I have a question for you.


How does it feel,

to be the topic of a poem?


Published Poem Link: https://tcjstudent.org/be-the-muse-for-once

Epiphanies (Unpublished Original Poem)


My head has been a misty monday morning,

after a gentle rain shower,

and the sun is slowly waking up.


Morning dew sleeps on leaves,

and the fog from the dawn,

softly kisses the valley and river streams.


The smell of ceyaka and sage linger in the back of my skull,

and leak into my dreams.


They’ve been a frothy wonder,

leaving me with questions to ponder,

and I follow my footprints to the places I’ve wandered.


I find myself swimming in the lakes from my childhood,

reminiscing about mud pies and going outside to play,

before the sun sets on a purple-blue day.


My thoughts have been nostalgic.


Bubblegum, Cotton Candy, Birthday Cake,

Cookies and Cream Ice Cream and Strawberry Milkshake.


Scents and flavours play hide n seek,

but I am left only seeking,

never able to hear which memories are speaking.


It is gut wrenching.


I lose myself in the depths,

caught in a spiderweb,

I keep spinning,

and spinning,

deeper into the thread.


Epiphanies and dreams,

keep me up at night,

asking me questions I can only leave on read.


((Not Published))


A Love Letter To The Land (Pending Publishing)


“If you could write a love letter to the land, what would you say?”


I’m not sure.


I don’t think words are enough to describe,

my deep appreciation for all she’s done–

–I guess..

I’d ask her how she does it.


How does she continue to make the trees and flowers grow,

or allow the sun to rise,

even after all that has happened to her.


I’d ask her for a hug because her resiliency must be tiring.


I’d ask her to smudge because when I do,

I feel less heavy,

and maybe if she does,

the stars will sing,

and the stars,

will cry to the moon about what it’s like to breathe.


I’d ask her about the rocks,

and if she feels as strong as they.


I’d ask about the pain,

and where it hurts the most.


I’d grab my bundle of cedar and sage,

And when I’m done asking,

I’d tell her about my scars,

and how they still hurt too.


I’d tell her “Thehicila na Pilamaya.”


Thank You & I Love You.   


Publish Poem Link: TBA


Oranges Published in 912 Review December 2024


do not like peeling oranges.


I do not like the way,

the skin,

squeezes,

its way between my nails,

lurking where dirt and grime hide.

I do not like the residue left on my fingers and hands,

orange mist and stained fingertips,

I feel icky and sticky.


I do not like peeling oranges.


Yet I find myself quietly sitting,

patiently,

with tender,

gentle hands,

I peel an orange for you.


Ignoring grime between nail beds,

only caring about taking a small burden off your chest.


I do not like peeling oranges.


But I’d peel them for you if the same words,

danced off your lips.


Published Poem link is here


Starlight (Unpublisbed Original Poem)


Starlight


I'm not the type to wish upon a star, 

I feel as though a thought could take the moment away, 

as if a thought could compare,

to the glowing streak,

of

    f

      a

     l

       l

     i

        n

     g

            memories.


A lifetime of stories untold, 

soaring through the night sky. 


Sometimes, all you can do is admire them, 

they look as if they're late for something, 

quickly passing by.


((Not Published))