I Forgot To Light A Candle

I forgot to light a candle the other day:
It was an uncle’s memorial,
But he was gone before I was,
And the recollections second-hand:
What my father mentioned,
The documents entrusted to me,
The rare, very rare, comments of my grandfather.

I did not know the precise date until
After they too were gone, when
I dug through the papers
And figured out the World War
Two details.  They did not mark
The date.
Nor did they light a candle,
And certainly no pray muttered.

No kaddish for the boy gone in
France.  My grandfather might have
Been bemused, or likely annoyed,
That I would recited the doxology
For his sons, or for him,
For that is an obligation I have
Saddled myself with.

But this year, I neglected 
To consult my calendar in
A timely fashion, and the 
Day on which I should have 
Lit the candle to 
Honor the sacrifice of 
The too-young uncle

Had already passed.
No candle this year.
Perhaps this scribble will do
To recall the uncle gone
Before I, or my elder sibs,
Arrived, though both of them bear
His name in some fashion.  Perhaps
Their lives will make do
For the absent flame.