The Reel That Wound Back Time

The Reel That Wound Back Time

I found a little second-hand shop,
Along a narrow street,
With faded curtains at the door,
And boxes by my feet.

There stood a clock without its hands,
A chair with one loose leg,
And someone’s coat from long ago,
Still hanging on a peg.

I nearly turned to leave the shop,
When something caught my eye,
A fishing reel upon a shelf,
I couldn’t just walk by.

My dad had owned one just like that,
I knew its little dent,
The handle had a wooden grip,
The silver rim was bent.

I turned it over in my hands,
And there beneath the grime,
His own initials looked at me,
Untouched by all that time.

“How much?” I asked the gentleman,
Who stood beside the door,
He smiled and said, “That little reel?
Just leave a pound, no more.”

I turned the handle very slowly,
It clicked beneath my thumb,
And somewhere in that dusty shop,
I heard my father hum.

The shelves began to fade away,
The floor beneath me swayed,
I smelt the grass beside the bank,
Where once we sat and played.

The river shimmered in the sun,
A float bobbed out of sight,
And there was Dad upon his stool,
His cap pulled down quite tight.

“Sit yourself down beside me, love,
They’re biting well today.”
He moved his fishing bag for me,
As though I’d never been away.

I looked down at my little shoes,
My socks around my knees,
The years had fallen from my hands,
Like leaves from autumn trees.

He passed a sandwich wrapped in paper,
And poured a little tea,
Then pushed the biggest half across,
The way he did for me.

I watched his fingers tie a knot,
Then straighten out the line,
I’d quite forgotten how they looked,
Those hands that once held mine.

I wanted to tell him everything,
The years he hadn’t seen,
The children he had never met,
And all the places I’d been.

But then he pointed to the float,
“Keep watching there,” he said,
And all the words I’d planned to say,
Grew quiet in my head.

We sat and watched the water move,
A duck went paddling by,
I leant against his old brown coat,
And tried hard not to cry.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and looked at me,
I said, “I’ve missed you, Dad.”
He put his arm around my neck,
“Now, what’s brought on this sad?”

I couldn’t tell him where I’d been,
Or why I held him tight,
I only knew his coat was warm,
And everything felt right.

A little fish disturbed the float,
He helped me draw it near,
“You’ve caught yourself a beauty, love,
Come on, let’s see it here.”

He slipped the hook out carefully,
Then let the fish swim free,
And wiped his hands upon a cloth,
Before he smiled at me.

The sun was sinking past the bridge,
The afternoon grew cold,
I wished that I could stay that small,
And he would not grow old.

“Just one more minute, please,” I said,
He smiled and shook his head,
“We’ll have another day out, love,
It’s nearly time for bed.”

He kissed my forehead as he rose,
Then reached to take my hand,
I tried to catch his fingers,
But felt the handle turn instead.

The river vanished from my eyes,
The shelves came back in view,
And there I stood beside the clock,
With rain upon my shoe.

The shopkeeper said not a word,
He let me have my cry,
Then wrapped the reel in soft brown paper,
And tied it carefully.

I took it home and held it close,
Then tried the handle there,
It clicked, but all around me stood,
My table and my chair.

I’ve turned it many times since then,
It hasn’t worked that way,
But once, inside a little shop,
It gave me back a day.

And when I think about my dad,
It’s there I see him still,
Beside the river, saving me,
A place where time stands still.