A Conversation with Victoria Melekian
We’ve kept our eye on DIHP Best of the Net 2026 nominee and two time DIHP alumna Victoria Melekian, and we were thrilled to see the launch of her new collection, The Accidental Courage of Our Lives. She generously sat down to chat with us about the new book, happiness, California, and, of course, pockets. Continue reading at the conclusion of our chat to sample three poems from the new collection. — CMG
~
1. Our traditional opening question is, naturally, a big one: What is your favorite pocket?
Hmm. I love them all, but my favorite is the giant pocket on the front of a hoodie because I can clasp my own hand. It’s rather nice walking around holding hands with myself.
2. Tell us about the most fun you’ve had giving a reading: Who or where or when?
In 2014 I won Honorable Mention in a contest called Poetry in the Windows sponsored by the Arroyo Arts Collective in Highland Park. Twenty-four poems were posted in the windows of businesses along Figueroa Street (I think mine was in a furniture store), and we walked en masse, stopping to hear each poet read their poem in front of the store it was posted in. It was an absolutely perfect L.A. day—sunny, bright, and blue, people happy and full of good cheer.
3. The Accidental Courage of Our Lives came out late last year. How did the collection come about and come together?
I had a bunch of poems with no discernible theme so I asked my mentor, Katie Riegel (her poems are in one of your issues), if she could create order from my pile, and—oh my—she did a lovely job. I used five hundred dollars that I won in a poetry contest to enter my manuscript in every call for submissions I could find. I was longlisted once, shortlisted once, and ready to give up when Hayley Mitchell Haugen, editor of Sheila-Na-Gig Editions, said yes. They are a wonderful press and the right fit for me.
4. Who are some of your current favorite poets and writing peers?
So many favorites. I started out devouring Dorianne Laux and Kim Addonizio, added Ted Kooser, Tony Hoagland, Ellen Bass, Ada Limon, Aimee Nezhukumatahil—my gosh, the list is long, and they’re probably your favorites, too. Currently, I’m loving Sarah Freligh, Katie Riegel, Alison Luterman.
5. The DIHP team nominated your poem “On an Ordinary Afternoon I Was Clobbered by Happiness” for our Best of the Net slate this year. Though we love everything we publish here, it’s rarer for us to feel truly seen in the way we all did by the poem. Can you tell us about the genesis of the piece and its evolution?
I was exploring happiness, as it’s such a hard thing to pin down: elusive, ephemeral, all that. I was thinking when happiness reappears after spending time elsewhere, it feels like a big ole’ brass band dropping into my life, and that led to the idea of a parade barging in, spreading throughout the house, taking over until its inevitable departure. Sustained happiness isn’t promised, but I thought it might be safe to imply we can hope for a burst now and then.
6. You wrote another gorgeous piece in our May 2025 issue called “The Hesitation is This” which particularly resonated with our staff (having lost four of our dogs over the six months prior). Can you tell us more about the dog who inspired that piece?
Ah, yes, Kirby, the best boy ever. (I know, we all say that about our dogs.) He was a beautiful Golden Retriever/Chow mix, gentle and wonderful except when walking past male dogs—then look out. Kids could dress him in T-shirts and hats, lie down on top of him, and he just smiled. He was a year old when I adopted him, both of us ready for a companion. I brought him home and we adored each other until we met my now husband. That dog dumped me so fast it was almost comical. He still loved me, but it was clear that he’d switched his allegiance and would now devote his life to my husband. He was sixteen when he let us know it was time to go. It’s been a few years now, and we talk about getting another dog, but we’re not ready.
7. As editors, we tend to see the emotional tide of the literary community from a different angle. From what we’re seeing in submissions, the world right now feels heavy – and in some senses has felt that way since the pandemic. How is the world’s weight impacting your writing?
Yes—the world’s weight. I’ve truly struggled to find how to feel comfortable in this mess. I think what’s saving me is my age. Being a senior, in some strange way, gives me the energy to say, “You know what, I’m not letting politicians and crazies take away my joy.” It’s not easy because I read too much news, but as long as I focus on what I’m grateful for: good health, grandkids, finches cracking open the seed pods on my pink bower vine, I’m okay. These are weird times and I’m trying to write bolder and reach further, to write beyond my life and nature’s beauty, to actually dissent without ending up in trouble.
8. Having once lived in California, I always find, when I’m there, there’s a particular creative energy humming beneath my feet. How does California – and/or other beloved places – impact your creative process or do you find yourself place-agnostic?
This is an interesting question. I’m possibly place-agnostic as Southern California is all I know. I’ve always lived near the coast and oriented myself to the Pacific—I’m not talking beach front, but close enough to see distant ocean on my morning walk or when I’m running errands. I think I’m more attuned to the sun as far as energy. I droop during our gloomy May and June days. I’d be such a whiny wimp if I lived somewhere with seasons and real weather.
9. How can readers find more of your work?
I have a website victoriamelekian.com with links to anything that is published online. My book is available from Sheila-Na-Gig Editions.
City of Angels
O, Los Angeles, City of Angels,
California’s sequined gem, my home-
coming queen, The Town of Our Lady
the Queen of the Angels—I grew up
in her sprawl, played hop scotch
and dodge ball in her cradled basin.
She is Smog Queen, Traffic Queen,
mother of us all: Dodgers, Lakers,
Clippers, and Kings. Los Angeles,
queen of icons: Norms, Bob’s Big Boy,
and Winchell’s Donuts. Home to
Olvera Street, the Miracle Mile, Holly-
wood stars. She is Guerilla Tacos,
Musso and Frank Grill, pastrami
at Canter’s. She’s tug boats in the harbor,
Catalina on a clear day. My Lady
of the Angels is skyscrapers, back-
yard chickens, a slog of red taillights
through the valley. She is plum-smudged
sunsets, a harvest moon over Capitol
Records, the city where I learned how
to parallel park, navigate downtown’s
four level interchange, how to be a person—
one of many. My town of Our Lady
the Queen of Angels is a twenty-four hour,
red-hot-neon legend that never fades.
Swing by. The porch light is blinking.
| This poem was first published at LAdige Review, California Poets, Part 8.
The Accidental Courage of Our Lives
Mom, there are termites in the garage. I can see
their fine dust droppings and I should call someone
to fix it before I come home to a huge pile
of crumbled house and yet week after week I don’t.
Work is hard and there’s too much of it, and some days
there’s not enough of me left to spread on a cracker.
I’m doing that thing again: telling myself life
will be better when I retire, when I organize my stuff,
when I walk three times a week, but that’s crap
thinking, I know. Life is right now. I ended up
with the same cancer as you, Mom, and because
you died young, I thought I would, too, but I’m still here,
and that’s something: living with the termites,
our doddering old dog, sweet chaos of family.
Living with gratitude for all I thought I’d miss:
daughters-in-law, grandkids’ small hands, a little house
with grass to mow and trashcans I lug to the curb
every Wednesday, the beautiful gift of each day—people
to feed, dishes to wash, laundry to fold. On my porch,
gray stems of the plant you gave me reach around the corner,
tiny coral flowers seek sun, want light, want it all.
| This poem was first published at River Heron Review.
Do the Silver Cartwheel
Pretend all is well.
When nightly news says otherwise,
find solace in the iris
popping up in the junkpile of winter
yard a month early. Fall in love
with its purple petals
and delicate light stripes,
the bright yellow fan
plunked smack in the middle
of its blossom like an egg yolk.
Be amazed at its audacity
to bloom no matter the weather.
Emulate the iris.
Jump off the boat, stand on your head,
sing to the carrots and parsley.
Waltz down the bakery aisle.
Do the silver cartwheel.
Flower. Be the bloom: ivory, violet,
ruby-tipped. Leave your petals
in the doctor’s office, pack a few
into a loved one’s lunch,
fling some out the sunroof.
Strew those posies.
Leave a garland trail.
Victoria Melekian lives with her husband in Carlsbad, California. She’s a retired court reporter who loves words. Now that she’s no longer confined to conference rooms capturing every do you recall, isn’t it true, she has time to play with her own words: stories, flash fiction, a novella-in-flash, and poems, poems, poems. Her work has appeared in print and online and has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. She messes around with flowers in the garden, tip-toes around bird nests, and goes for a walk almost every morning. Her poetry collection The Accidental Courage of Our Lives is available from Sheila-Na-Gig Editions. For more, see her website: victoriamelekian.com
