Recliner

My husband insists we used to have one.
Brown, some kind of leather or leatherette
—I'd say vinyl, but leatherette at least
sounds cuter, unlike synthetic or faux
leather. He says he'd sometimes sleep 
in it, since it was in the only room 
with an A/C unit. For the life of me 
I can't remember that we ever had such 
a chair; or who gave it to us, since 
I would never have bought such a big, 
ugly thing myself. Recliners were supposed 
to be good for astronauts just back from 
long space missions, since gravity improves 
circulation when you raise your feet above 
the level of the heart. Perhaps at first
it feels comfortable to sink deep into 
such a chair; but getting up out of it 
can feel like flailing. The spine 
might not be fully supported. But what 
do I know? I've never flown first class, 
where the seats are tufted, the bread 
buttery, the desserts Michelin-starred. 
I prefer the idea of a chaise— what 
used to be called a fainting couch 
in Victorian times: something to fall 
upon in an excess of emotion, or 
what they might also call a swoon.