The House is Not My Home (Lorraine)

I'd only take what's at my fingertips,
My purse maybe, my wallet or my phone.
Prosaic, useful things could make it with:
I live here, but the house is not my home.

 I've left my pieces all over Berlin,
My treasures in a dumpster by the Dom,
The gutters, where I hid my favourite ring;
Of anywhere, the house is not my home.

 My photos are two continents away,
And not for lack of love that they are gone––
I loved them far too much for them to stay.
I threw away the house that's not my home.

 Whatever's on my back, I am my own,
And am my world. The house is not my home.

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Also for the workshop exercise: what object would you save from your home in a disaster?