dripping

wherever i go the ceiling 
begins to leak.
it doesn't even have to be raining
sometimes the water just comes down--
a trickle a bucket 
a cupped handful of water on the top 
of my head. i don't think it's god but i do
think it's the angles with nothing else
to do but to try & wash me.
in my last year of college 
the ceiling of my bedroom turned into a lake. 
i never let anyone inside because
they wouldn't believe it with all it's 
flora & fauna--a full eco system right
in my ceiling complete with 
water grasses & bull frogs jumping
from the rocks near the edge.
the ducks left their feathers 
on my floor & fathers & their sons 
came to fish on weekend mornings 
while i'd try to sleep in but always
just ended up watching them & wishing
they would ask me to join them. 
where i live now there is no lake 
or even an ocean. the water here is more 
fickle & i'll go weeks without it coming down
all over me & then all of a sudden something 
wild like a river will rip through 
the hallway, leaving fish thrashing 
on the carpet. i toss the fish & the tangles 
of reeds out the window with this happens.
i'm worried my housemates will think
it's my fault-- that i bring furious water
wherever i go. i know it is my fault 
but i don't know how to stop it. 
how do you stop water? i have tried asking gently,
explaining that this isn't the time or place 
for a current but that just makes
the water more eager. i suggest the bathtub 
& the water laughs, splashing my face.
minnows dart like stray heart beats
around the submerged floor of my room.
i think of how in my hometown i used to
think the creek was the most romantic spot in town.
i want to show my partner the water--
i want to pull them under 
& watch them hold their breath. i want their hair
to sway like grass. sometimes i wonder
if everyone is plagued with bodies of water 
like this-- if we just never tell each other
& survive it each with our own devices.
i buy rain coats & sometimes close my eyes
until the river passes & the apartment 
is drips with its remnants.