Chaim Gross

It was an honor
To work with you in your studio
In your home
Off of Washington Square.

You were working on
Smaller scale sculptures
And models then.

You were stiff
And had a hard time moving.
Your patience would
Only allow you to work
For but an hour at a time.

I could feel your frustration
When your hands and body
Couldn’t do the things
That they used to do so easily
And with pride.

And as we would stroll
Through your studio
Packed with sculptures
Most very large and heavy
Made of wood, stone, marble, granite and bronze
You would tell me with clarity and fondness
How you made each one
How you yourself moved that stone
Or giant piece of wood
And carved it into
The piece before us.

The photos that I saw
From your past showed a large man
Working here in this very studio.
At the time I worked for you
The same man was dwarfed
By the very same pieces
As you shuffled slowly
Between them.

Those moments that we shared
Were bittersweet and tender
And once I saw tears on your face.


I could sense your defeat
Given to age
As the tool would fall from your hand
To the floor
With a metallic ping
As your lovely wife
Called us in for lunch.