It's scary, the way those things just arc through the air like that.
The port's got a pair of grav-slingers, one on each end. First one fires the box at where we'll be when the station rotates enough, and the second one catches it and sets it in your arms, light as a feather, and gentle as a mother's kiss.
Your mother weighs six tons, and "kisses" with two meters of muscled trunk.
And she's not a pansy two-legs afraid to try catching a box.