Between months of silence,my father sends me communist TikToks from Chinese accounts. I assume they are probut can’t know—I don’t have the app.What is between us remains unwatchable. But I want to lookat him across our dimming country, water and wheat becoming one expanse of night. If I could drive to him, I would begin the wrong way. When he sends me a video of Anne Hathawaygiving a speech about her father,all I can see is her face, unmoving,and I’m left to imagine what she might saythe way my father in the dark is holding closelyhis phone and trying to remember my voice.————————————–Andrew Chi Keong Yim called us from Queens, New York.voicemailpoems.org/submit/facebook.com/voicemailpoemsx.com/voicemailpoemsbsky.app/profile/voicemailpoems.bsky.socialinstagram.com/voicemailpoems